KotOR: DARK DAY
by Tatooine92
Summary: It's just a routine day, a routine mission, a routine mine. But things go horribly, horribly wrong... Lire Dakaar's personality belongs to me. The rest to LucasArts and BioWare. Completed.
1. Part One: Just Another Tomb

**Part One - Just Another Tomb**

"So let me get this straight," Carth muttered, glancing askance at the huge pillar blocking the path to the opposite side of the tomb. "You want to blow up a rock pillar to clear the way even though it could wake up those droids over there?"

He motioned across the seemingly infinite chasm to where a handful of assault droids lay in standby, waiting for a cue to signal the dawn of combat. It was evident that any sudden motion or noise, such as that from an explosion, would awaken the droids. Lire Dakaar sighed and shifted her weight slightly, tugging the long sleeves of her robe up around her elbows. They'd been on Korriban for almost a week now, and the darkness of the Sith world was beginning to affect her. She was not showing Dark Side inclinations; rather, her high Light standing caused her to become tired after extended periods near great concentrations of dark power. She looked nearly exhausted even though such was not the case now; she simply appeared weary. Beside her, young Mission just looked nervous about being in yet another Sith Lord's tomb.

"Yes, Carth," Lire replied quietly. "I want that pillar blown up. And if the droids wake up, no problem."

She held out a hand as tiny blue sparks—evidently her most recently learned droid destroying power—arced across her fingertips. Mission's mouth formed an _O_ of awe; she and Lire were almost like sisters, and it always impressed Mission greatly when her friend discovered a new power. Carth sighed.

"All right, but I bet this won't be pretty."

"Another of those gut feelings?" Lire asked, sounding concerned as she glanced over at the sleeping droids. She knew not to ridicule his "bad feelings" because listening to those feelings had saved their lives more than once. Carth nodded.

"Yeah, this one says it's gonna be messy. That pillar's not just rock."

"It's therangen, I know," Lire replied, glancing momentarily at it before folding her arms thoughtfully and sighing. "Stick a grenade in it, pull the pin, run for your life, and the thing explodes about two seconds later."

Carth nodded, frowning apprehensively at the droids. Lire shrugged one shoulder before turning to Mission, the explosives bearer of this little group. Lire did not like endangering the girl with such things, but Mission had quite the knowledge of demolitions. She had, in fact, been helping Carth learn the finer points of setting and recovering mines.

"Got anything to go boom, Mish?" Lire asked.

The young Twi'lek dug around in the pockets of her oversized utility belt for a minute before she pulled out one mine, holding it in her cupped palms with utmost care.

"I've got one plasma mine," she said. "Restock some time, will ya?"

Mission frowned unhappily at the prospect of having so few explosive toys, and Lire chuckled at her expression before gingerly taking the mine. She looked it over, pursing her lips.

"You're _sure_ we have nothing a little less . . . intense?"

Mission shook her head.

"Nope. Sorry."

Lire sighed and nodded resignedly as she turned to Carth, holding the mine out to him. He took it and set it at the base of the pillar, crouching down to set it while trying to ignore the gnawing sensation he had of dread and doom. Mission crept up behind him, trying to be careful not to distract him.

"You gonna use the remote detonate?" she asked, voice hushed. Carth nodded without looking up. "Oh, good. That's the way to do it, anyway."

Carth grunted an acknowledgment as he continued setting the mine; it was, after all, a very delicate process. One crossed wire could send the pillar _and_ them sky-high. Mission looked down over the edge of the narrow stone catwalk, peering down at the endless darkness below. Who knew what could be down there? More than likely there were evil Sith traps. Maybe there were wild beasts ready to rip you to shreds if you weren't dead from the fall. Or maybe, if you were still alive when you hit the bottom, there were huge, deadly spikes ready to impale you and turn you into a human shish kabob. Mission swallowed hard as she felt herself totter. Gazing down from enormous heights had that effect on her as well as most people: she felt as though she might fall any minute. She was so certain that she was going to tumble down into that dark abyss, especially after she almost thought she'd seen something moving down there, that she let out a yelp and went careening back into Carth. He shouted in surprise, Lire jumped, and then there was an earth-shaking explosion as the mine went off prematurely. The pillar crumbled and dropped off the edge of the catwalk, vanishing into the depths as the droids across the way activated immediately. Lire leaped into action, ion-based sparks leaping from her fingers. She deftly destroyed the droids in a matter of seconds before turning her attention to the scene of the explosion. Mission was pushing herself up, coughing and brushing dust from her blue-hued skin. Lire grabbed her shoulders and gave her a bit of a shake.

"Mish, are you okay?" she asked, eyes worried. Mission nodded.

"Uh huh, I think so . . ."

Lire embraced her almost maternally before her gaze fell on Carth. He most definitely was _not_ all right. He wasn't screaming, but he was curled up on the catwalk, his face covered by both hands as he made strange gasping sounds, almost as if he couldn't breathe. His hands were red and weeping from burns that trailed up to his wrists, and his clothes were blackened from the explosion. Lire bit her lip and sank to her knees at his side, leaning over him and prying his hands away from his face. She inhaled sharply when she saw the sight beneath those hands. His eyes were squeezed shut, almost sealed, and the skin around them was weeping plasma. The rest of his face looked nearly charred, and Lire immediately had a sinking feeling that he might not be all right. He was still making those horrible wheezing sounds, so she gathered him into her arms and just held him tightly, pressing his head against her chest. She seemed to be rocking him as she turned to Mission, who was pale with fright.

"Mish," Lire said slowly, trying to keep her voice calm and level. "Go back to the _Hawk_ and get Jolee. Tell him to bring his stuff. Get him back here, and if the Sith ask, tell them whatever you must. _Go!_"

Mission turned and darted off back toward the tomb's entrance. Lire heard the heavy rock scrape across the cold stone floor once, then twice when it shut again. She put a hand against Carth's cheek, trying her hardest to heal him. Her Force energy was drained, however, from unleashing that devastating attack against those droids. So all she could do was hold him and wait for her strength to return so she could try again. He stirred faintly in her arms, causing her to clutch him more tightly. His eyes opened slowly at first, as if it were painful to do so, but eventually they opened completely. The thing that Lire noticed immediately was that his gaze didn't latch onto her face. Instead, it was almost as if he were staring off into space. There was a shuddering gasp from him as he groped for her hand, squeezing hard when he found it.

"Lire . . ." he whispered, voice hoarse and almost terrified. "Oh, Force, Lire . . . I can't . . . I can't see."

* * *

**A/N:** _As you can probably tell, this tale takes place pre-Leviathan fiasco. If it didn't, Lire would be under death threats from Carth. _--;_ Actually, I normally like to play the Korriban level in two parts: the first part I do right after I get the Dustil side-quest, so I run off to find him. Then I do a whole slew of missions because for some reason I really like Korriban. The second part comes after I run off and do another planet, get captured by Saul, etc. That's when I return to Korriban and cash in on all the prestige-earning missions I did earlier. Saves time and doesn't kill the Carth romance side-quest by putting off Dustil's rescue._


	2. Part Two: Tragedy

**Part Two - Tragedy**

Lire's jaw dropped in shock at Carth's sudden statement, and she gave his hand as reassuring a squeeze as she could manage at the time. Her heart was pounding so hard that it echoed in her ears, and fear gripped her even though she struggled desperately not to let it show. She stroked the back of his hand, her Force energy rejuvenated enough to cool the burns and heal the flesh.

"Shh, you're okay," she soothed. "You're going to be fine."

Carth weakly shook his head as a tear or two trailed down his scarred cheek. Lire realized at that moment that never in the few months she had known him had she seen him cry. It was a bit stunning for her to witness those tears roll down the pilot's face; this sudden loss had obviously crushed him far worse than Lire could've possibly imagined. With a gentle hand and a compassionate heart, she brushed that tear away, focusing her power as she did and watching as the charred skin healed beneath her fingers. Yet she was getting tired again; at this rate, she'd have to keep this up for days before there would be enough improvement in him to make a difference. And Carth was still making those worrying raspy sounds; Lire laid a hand over his throat, trying to heal the burns there. Once again, her Force energy was drained, but the burns had faded somewhat. Carth was trembling in her arms; she sighed and pressed her cheek to his forehead, gently rocking him back and forth again. She knew she could never envision what it was like to see nothing but thick blackness, but she could feel his pain rolling off of him in waves. She just held him tightly, murmuring words of encouragement that she feared went ignored.

Far off in the distance, there was again that ominous sound of stone scraping against stone. Lire turned as hurried footsteps drew nearer, and a moment later, Mission emerged from the corridor, breathless and with her lekku slapping against her back. Jolee Bindo was right behind her, holding a small crate—his makeshift doctor bag since he served as the _Ebon Hawk_'s medic—filled with necessary medical equipment. Mission fell to her knees beside Carth, wrapping both of her tiny hands around his much larger one and squeezing.

"I'm so, so sorry, Carth," she babbled. "I really didn't mean to bump into you, honest! I felt like I was gonna fall off the edge and I didn't have anywhere else to go . . . But I bet if I hadn't been lookin' down, I wouldn't've felt like that, and I wouldn't've bumped into you, and you wouldn't be hurt right now . . ."

She trailed off, biting her lip and sniffling. Carth returned the squeeze but didn't say anything. Jolee knelt next to Lire, fishing some kolto from the little crate.

"Well, lemme see here . . . Yep, bad enough that you had to come and interrupt my nap. Lessee, sonny . . ."

He took one of Carth's hands and bandaged it with kolto-soaked strips of gauze, and Lire still kept a firm hold on the pilot. Mission looked up at her, big eyes worried.

"Why ain't he lookin' at any of us?" she asked in a fearful, hushed tone.

Lire sighed and smoothed Carth's hair before looking mournfully up at Mission.

"He's blind, Mish."

Mission's reaction was one of horror. Her jaw dropped as the tears welling in her eyes spilled out, running down her face. She buried her face in the front of Carth's jacket, miserably weeping her heart out. Lire reached over and rubbed her back.

"Now I _know_ it's all m—my fault," Mission sputtered. "M—my fault he's . . . he's b—blind!"

"Don't say that, Mish," Lire replied. "It was an accident. Don't put all the blame on yourself." She looked to Jolee, who was dousing Carth's face with kolto. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"Don't talk about me like I ain't here," Carth muttered, voice low and words faintly slurred. "Jus' 'cause I'm a deep-fried blind pilot doesn't mean I don't exist."

"Oh, hush," Lire chided, neatening the slightly burned ends of his hair. "This is just temporary, most like. Now be still and let Jolee look at you."

Because he really had no other option, Carth complied and remained lying in Lire's protective embrace as Jolee examined him, quite often murmuring "Hmm" under his breath. Mission still looked as if she were on the verge of tears, and when Lire opened her other arm to her, the girl crawled over and hid her face in her friend's shoulder. Lire just kissed the top of her head, patting Mission's lekku with a sisterly affection. After a minute, Jolee sighed heavily and sat back on his heels, surveying his work. Carth's face looked relatively healed, but it seemed as if it might need a little more time and kolto to be restored to its normal state.

"Let's get 'im back to the ship," he said. "I need more light. These Sith never did know how to install good light fixtures, dammit."

"Should we move him?" Lire asked, brows furrowed. "What if he's in shock?"

"Don't you young'uns trust your elders anymore?" the old man sighed. "He's got enough kolto floatin' in his system to make him downright giddy. I just wanna get a better look at those eyes o' his, see if it's permanent or not."

"It'd better not be," Mission bemoaned, climbing to her feet. "I feel bad enough as it is!"

"He'll be fine, Mish," Lire assured her once again as Jolee helped her heft Carth to his feet. "I promise, he's gonna be fine."

By the time Lire was completely on her feet, her shoulder was nestled up under Carth's arm, and she had one hand on his waist while the other clutched the hand hanging tight to her opposite shoulder. It was slightly curious to see how a woman as relatively small as she could support a man a good seventy pounds heavier than she. Mission scurried around to Carth's other side, offering her own support.

"I ain't paralyzed . . ." Carth mumbled, unseeing eyes staring straight ahead.

"I know," Lire replied as they started making their way toward the tomb exit, Jolee behind them. "It's just that . . . well . . ."

"You can't see where you're going," Mission blurted out, "and we don't want you to get hurt!"

Lire noticed a pained expression cross Carth's face, and she glanced momentarily at Mission, shaking her head as if to remind the girl not to make any more mention of that than she had to. Mission nodded rapidly before she wrapped her arms around Carth's waist and squeezed him in an enormous hug. He went stiff for a second or two before gingerly patting her back. Lire just sighed to herself as she wondered if this blindness would be permanent. That would be such a crushing blow if it were. She decided instead to hope for the best as the foursome made their way back through the Valley of the Dark Lords and toward the _Ebon Hawk_, ignoring the strange glances they got from the Sith.

When they returned to the _Hawk_, Lire was bombarded from all angles by questions. Jolee restricted Carth to the medbay while Lire and Mission attempted to answer the prodding curiosities of the other crew members. When the story was finally told, it was greeted by a mixture of shock and horror, and Lire knew why. What good was a blind pilot? T3-M4 could certainly fly the ship, yes, but he was relatively limited to his programming. Carth could be more creative in tough situations. Yet Lire warned the others not to make a big fuss over this situation; she somehow knew that Carth was at a fragile point in his already broken history, and any thoughtless mention of blindness was likely to send him over the edge. This was the reason Lire sat nearby as Jolee examined Carth's eyes, both with the Force and with the medbay's equipment, to try to get a sense of the damage's severity. After a minute or two of close observation, Jolee patted Carth's shoulder.

"Well, sonny, looks t' me like you got all worked up over nothin'. Just spooked your eyes a bit is all. They'll get better, but you oughtta get used to seein' black for a week or so. You can go."

Carth looked a sight, to tell the truth. His eyes had kolto-soaked patches over them, held in place by some bandages wrapped around his head. Lire felt so sorry for him that she reached over and took him by the hand.

"C'mon, Flyboy," she said. "I'll help you get up to the cockpit."

Yet Carth snatched his hand from her grip and shook his head, pressing his palms to the medbay's bunk before easing up. He wobbled a bit but didn't fall, and his jaw was set determinedly.

"I'll find it," he said before trying to find the doorway.

He groped along the wall for a minute before he found the medbay's entrance, at which point he nodded before rounding the corner, headed right. Lire darted out and got him turned the other way, and he grumbled under his breath, evidently displeased with himself. But before long he was off toward the cockpit, slowly and almost hesitantly as he ran his hands over the walls to try to get his bearings. Lire sighed and looked at Jolee with mournful eyes.

"He's so . . . so _proud_," she murmured, folding her arms and watching as Carth nearly bumped into a corner. "Tell me, Jolee: _is_ he going to be all right in a couple weeks?"

The old man sighed as his shoulders drooped a bit.

"Hard to tell, lass," he replied softly. "Those eyes o' his look pretty damaged. Could be they just need rest. Or maybe he's never gonna see again. I had to tell him there was hope so he wouldn't go gettin' depressed on us, y'see."

Lire sighed again and nodded. From where she stood, she could see that Mission had almost appeared out of nowhere and was giving Carth vocal directions, and the girl praised him when he sank into his usual seat in the cockpit.

"I know," Lire answered. "I just . . . What if he _doesn't_ see again, Jolee?"

"Then we're just gonna have to get used to it. But blind folks aren't worthless, y'know. There're things they can do better than we can. I bet after a while his hearing's gonna be sharper than a Sullustan's. He might end up having a really good sense of touch, too, for all I know. Could be he'll end up recognizing this ship just by the feel of its rivets."

"Is that even possible?" Lire asked, eyes still fixated on the corridor to the cockpit. Jolee looked mildly incredulous.

"Of _course_ it is, lass. You just wait and see. I bet he's gonna come through this with flyin' colors. If he's survived the rest of the garbage in his life you were tellin' me about, he should have no problems here."

"But he can't _see_, Jolee," Lire replied, voice low. "That's different from watching your homeworld die. It's like . . . like ripping the Force from a Jedi, almost. It's taking away something they depended so fully on but didn't really realize it. Like taking it away from them just because they took it for granted as if that would make a point." She paused and sighed, shaking her head slightly. "He might not take this very well at all."

Jolee was about to answer when Lire suddenly darted off at the sound of faint shuffling in the cockpit corridor. The next moment, Lire was at Carth's side, hand on his elbow. An unhappy scowl was on his face; it was evident he did _not_ like being led around like someone completely powerless and unable to fend for himself. He tugged his arm out of Lire's grasp again.

"I can find my own way," he muttered, and Lire sighed.

"I know, but—"

"But? Just because I'm _blind_ doesn't mean I'm _helpless_."

His voice was pained, full of anger, regret, sorrow . . . Lire bit her lip as she tried to think of something to say, but she couldn't. She had a horrible feeling that he might pull away from them all, that he might retreat into a deep, dark corner of solitary misery. She reached over and squeezed his hand, but he pulled it away and instead ran it along the wall, trying to find his way to the men's dorm.

"Don't do this," Lire said. "Let me help!"

"Thanks but no thanks," came the almost bitter reply. "I'm not helpless, and I'm not _useless_, so I can do this _myself_."

Hand still running flat against the wall, Carth started off in the direction of the men's dorm, muttering directions under his breath. He was obviously trying so hard to remember the ship's layout, and it seemed that he was doing a fairly good job of it because he nearly made a wrong turn but rectified it. Lire's eyebrows furrowed worriedly as she watched him walk slowly, almost hesitantly, down the hall. Part of her wanted to be able to know what he felt so she could understand better. The other part just wanted to be his eyes while he had none. Mission came up sadly behind her just as the door to the men's dorm hissed shut.

"He's not doin' so good, is he?" the girl asked softly. Lire shook her head slowly.

"I don't think so, sweetie," she answered with a sigh. Mission's shoulders slumped.

"And it's all my fault," she murmured. "If I'd been more careful, he wouldn't be miserable right now. I just wish I could make it better for him . . ."

She looked on the verge of tears, so Lire held out her arms and embraced the young Twi'lek. Mission cried into Lire's shoulder, causing Lire to realize that Mission hadn't cried so hard since Taris was turned to little but ash. She rubbed the girl's back, sighing.

"He'll be okay, Mish." To herself she added, _I hope._


	3. Part Three: Learning to Walk

**Part Three – Learning to Walk**

The _Ebon Hawk_ was silent that evening as everyone got ready to turn in for the night. Carth was still sealed inside the men's dorm; he hadn't even come out to eat even though Lire had asked repeatedly and Mission had tried to pick the lock to take him a plate. Both attempts had failed miserably as they were both greeted with a gruff "Go away." Eventually, Lire and Mission positioned themselves near the dorm door and declared loudly that they really didn't care if Carth stayed locked up in there for the rest of his life but that they knew he'd have to come out sooner or later if he wanted 'fresher privileges. There was silence after that one, and the girls went off, satisfied that they'd put the thought of coming out of self-exile into that pilot's head. For the most part, Lire was attempting to make Mission feel better about the situation even though she was worried that the crew might have a serious case of depression on their hands if Carth were allowed to mope long enough.

Everyone seemed willing to help Carth adapt if he'd just come out and let them. Bastila offered to teach him to "see" things by touch; Canderous observed that Jedi probably spent a lot of time doing that before he offered to break down the men's dorm door. Lire just said that they all ought to wait to see what would happen. That was why there was an empty place at the dinner table that night: because they were waiting.

When it came time to go to bed, Canderous had to set up a makeshift bunk in the garage because no one could get past the way Carth had locked the men's dorm. By the time everything was settled and Lire could finally tuck herself in, Bastila was sound asleep and Mission was missing. A brief search revealed the girl standing in her pajamas with her ear pressed against the men's dorm hatch. She turned when she heard Lire come up behind her.

"I don't hear anything," she whispered.

"He's probably asleep by now," Lire answered, taking Mission's shoulders and turning her back toward the ladies' dorm. "Go on now, get some sleep. It's been a long day."

Mission sighed and reluctantly turned away, and Lire glanced once at the hatch before following. She just hoped there weren't suicidal thoughts running through that man's head, and that thought startled her somewhat, so she turned around and went back to the door, knocking on it.

"See you in the morning, Carth," she said. "And you'd better not be getting too angsty on me."

She was relieved to hear an acknowledging grunt, so she nodded to herself and walked away, dimming the lights in the main hold as she went. In spite of the traumatic experiences of the day, she was glad of one thing: that she wasn't spending the night in the Sith Academy. As she eased into her bunk and nestled down beneath the blankets, she couldn't help but wonder if Carth would even still be in that dorm in the morning. For all she knew, he was going to somehow escape that night and be far away before anybody could blink. As far as she could tell, he had the misery to do just about anything, and taking his own life probably wouldn't have been out of the question. But the ship was completely quiet, so Lire tried to get some sleep.

She slept soundly for a few hours before a loud crash jolted her awake. She glanced around the ladies' dorm; Bastila was still as sound asleep as ever, but the noise had awakened Mission. Not saying a word, the two leaped out of bed and ran from the dorm to investigate the cause of that racket. While Mission darted off to see if it'd awakened anyone else, Lire went on to find out what had caused that crash. Eventually, she came to the door of the cargo bay and peered in, flipping on the light. There she found that several of the supply bins had been knocked over and that Carth was sitting there among them, arms wrapped around his knees and an angry scowl on his face. Lire sighed to herself as she entered and took a seat next to him, brushing against his shoulder to let him know where she was.

"Rough night, huh?" she asked gently. His scowl only deepened.

"Where the hell am I?" came the angry-sounding, frustrated question.

"The cargo hold," she replied with a sigh. "Why, were you wanting to be somewhere else?"

"Got hungry," Carth replied gruffly after a minute.

They sat there in silence for a while before Mission arrived at the cargo hold, skidding around the corner.

"Well, it didn't wake Canderous up, and Jolee's a bit grouchy, and Juhani was dreaming, so—" She cut abruptly off as her gaze latched onto Carth. "What happened?"

"Bit of an accident," Lire replied softly. Carth scoffed.

"Like hell it was," he grumbled. "Don't know where the hell I'm going . . ."

"That is quite _enough_," Lire stated firmly. "Mish, you go on back to bed. I'll take care of this."

Mission bit her lip as she nodded, but then she scampered over and suddenly hugged Carth, startling him. Then she was back out of the cargo hold, waving slightly to Lire.

"Okay, well . . . Night, Carth. Hope you feel better soon."

And then she was gone. Lire glanced sideways at Carth, who was still scowling angrily with his arms folded across the tops of his knees.

"Pity party?" she asked.

"No," came the burly reply.

"Oh, so it wasn't a pity party, but when you went the wrong way and ended up knocking the supply crates over, you didn't get up and try to go the right direction. Instead, you sat here pouting."

"I'm _not_ pouting," Carth grumbled, sounding ever so unlike himself. "I'm _fine_."

"Really? You know what, Carth, you've been locked up in that dorm ever since we got back from the Valley. I thought you'd want to try to get used to this if—"

"If _what_?" Carth sounded angrier than he had as he tore the bandages off his head and threw them aside. "If I never see again? Because, look, I can already tell I won't. You think Jolee wasn't lying to me? The frelling mine blew up in my _face_, Lire. No way I'm gonna see again. _Ever._"

Lire frowned as she climbed to her feet and went to a far corner of the cargo hold. She put her hands on her hips and looked right at Carth.

"Get up," she said sternly. He turned his head slightly in confusion.

"What?"

"_Get up_," Lire said, almost barking the order. "If you're going to be blind till the day you die, then you may as well get used to it. Now _get up_!"

Eyebrows raised curiously, Carth slowly staggered to his feet, using a nearby crate for support. As soon as he was up, Lire nodded even though she knew fully he couldn't see her.

"Good. Now, walk to me."

"_What?!_ I can't see you!"

"_Walk_ to me, Carth. Follow my voice." Carth looked unsure. Lire sighed. "_Do it!_"

Slowly, hesitantly, Carth took a step forward before pausing. He took another step and paused again. He sighed and shook his head, letting his shoulders droop.

"This is stupid," he muttered, and Lire sighed.

"It is _not_. Now, c'mon."

With a frustrated sigh and a grumble, Carth took another few hesitant steps forward before he came to a stop and rapidly shook his head.

"This isn't gonna work, Lire," he muttered. "I don't know where I'm going!"

"That's pretty much the whole point," Lire answered, noting with pleasure how his head snapped in the direction of her voice. "You can't rely on always being able to feel things. You have to hear some things, too—like people. To know where they are, you can't go up and grab them. You've got to train your ears to be so sensitive that you'll be able to locate anyone at any time. Now, let's keep at this. Walk to me."

Carth bit his lip before he squared back his shoulders and started walking again. There had been _something_ in the tone of Lire's voice, some strength, some _power_ that made him, deep down, want to try even if his immediate consciousness wanted to refuse. Part of him wanted to just give up. The other part, though it was far smaller in comparison, needed to try. He struggled so hard to attune his hearing to Lire, to whatever she said, however she moved . . . He paused when he didn't hear anything and moved forward when her robes rustled or she urged him onward. Perhaps he wanted to try not just for himself but for her as well.

After a few minutes, her hands were on his shoulders as she praised him, told him how proud she was of him. There was a fraction of his mind that was cynical; that fraction wanted to shove her away and make some excuse about how it was "just" walking across a cargo hold. He just shrugged and didn't say anything, but he went stiff when she took his face in her hands and kissed him on the cheek. _That_ he had most certainly _not_ been expecting. But she pulled away just as quickly, and he cautiously brushed his hands over her face. Her face was warm; was she blushing? He touched her chin, her forehead, her shoulders, building something of a mental image to which he could refer. Yet as soon as he pulled his hands away, that image was lost. He couldn't remember the shape of her nose even though he'd touched it only a few moments before. But he could remember the texture of her hair and of her skin and the roughness of her well-worn robes, and he recognized her voice immediately. He just could not recall the shape of _her_. He bit his lip as his brows furrowed. Almost instantly, her hand was on his shoulder.

"Carth?"

". . .Yeah?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Uh . . . well . . ." He sighed, shoulders slouching. "Tell me something, Lire. What color is your hair?"

There was an almost apprehensive tone to her voice when she answered.

"Black. Why?"

"And your eyes?"

"Blue. Carth, what's going on? You know all this."

He refused to reply as he shook his head, brows furrowed so tightly that deep creases appeared on his forehead.

"What about your skin?"

"Fair. Kind of a peachy color. Flyboy, what're all these color questions for?"

He sighed as his chin dropped. Had he been able, he would've been staring at his boots. Instead, his face was just tilted down as he gripped her hands. It seemed only right that something like this would happen so soon after a victory. Force forbid he should beat this stumbling block. He heaved a shaky breath as he tried to force himself to remember but to no avail.

"You're gonna call me crazy," he mumbled, "but I don't think I can remember your face."

**A/N:** _I know that seemed fast. Reason is explained in pt. 4._


	4. Part Four: Damaged

**Part Four – Damaged **

"Tell me you're kidding," Lire said, jaw slack. "Tell me you've grown a sense of humor in the last thirty seconds."

Carth slowly, sadly, shook his head, and Lire hissed in a breath as if someone had just balled their fist and rammed it into her solar plexus. She tightly gripped Carth's arm as if willing him to somehow remember. He rubbed his forehead, grimacing somewhat.

"I don't believe this," he muttered. "Took me four Force-damn years to forget Morgana's face . . . Dammit, I oughtta know yours!"

"You haven't exactly kissed me _or_ had a son with me, though," Lire said slowly as she reached up and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.

She pursed her lips as she gently touched his forehead, closing her eyes and calling on the Force to try to determine what had caused this. This was much too soon after the accident for him to be forgetting faces. Something else had to be wrong. She sighed thinly as she searched for a cause and inhaled sharply when she found something that could be one. Parts of Carth's mind were fragmented, almost like T3's databank when it didn't get compressed periodically. It was like looking at a jumbled computer hard drive, almost, for there were pieces scattered out all across Carth's consciousness. Lire had feared something like this, and now that she saw it through the Force, it left a bitter taste in her mouth and a tightness in her stomach that she couldn't be rid of no matter how hard she tried. After a minute, she pulled back her hand and sighed heavily.

"Carth, I think I've got some bad news for you."

She noticed that as soon as she said that, his back straightened considerably, as if he could sense the severity of her "bad news." Lire bit her lip and kept going, squeezing one of his hands between both of hers, tenderly stroking his palm.

"It looks like you've got some brain damage."

Even with his sightless eyes, gray and hazy instead of whiskey brown, horror was scribbled across Carth's face. Lire's heart clenched at his pained expression, and she gave his hand a squeeze; that was her way of telling him that she'd always be there for him, brain damage or no. He bit his lip before heaving a shuddering sigh, his shoulders quivering ever so faintly.

"But . . . how? I—I know who I am, where I came from . . . I remember my past, what I did growing up, who my next-door neighbor was when I was _twelve_, even! How can I have _brain damage_ when I remember all that stuff?!"

"It could be that your short-term memory is damaged," Lire said slowly, touching his forehead again and nearly staggering at the pain that rolled off onto her. "Maybe if I were to ask you something and then remind you about it five minutes from now, you wouldn't remember. But . . . we could swing by Dantooine, see if the Jedi Council can do something."

Carth's face had been falling rather steadily for the past few minutes. Whatever glimmer of hope that had been instilled in him by his success in crossing the cargo hold just by following Lire's voice was slowly fading. Lire bit her lip worriedly; he was at a crucible, and any push from the wrong direction could send him and his now-fragile emotions spiraling out of control. Quite frankly, she feared for him. After everything he'd been through in his life, it certainly wouldn't take much to force him to his breaking point. She felt somewhat guilty for telling him that he might have brain damage, but she wondered what would've happened had she not. Perhaps he would've discovered it on his own after being unable to remember something recent. She could imagine the coarse swearing that would've come flooding from his mouth after such heartbreak. Perhaps it _had_ been good that she'd told him. Yet he looked so pained, so _agonized_, that she wanted so desperately to ease his suffering. For the first time in quite a while, she was at a loss of what to do. She had no grand escape. Instead, she just sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, blinking back tears. Strangely enough, or perhaps not, he returned the embrace, holding on to her ever so tightly, and she could feel his chest heave with a deep sigh.

She hugged him for a few minutes before he pulled back and looked faintly embarrassed but very obviously sorrowful. He reached out and touched a wall, feeling the cool metal and rounded rivets, sighing every once in a while.

"Doorway this way?" he asked, and Lire realized with a sinking feeling that he was having trouble remembering the ship's layout.

"Three feet to your left," she said as brightly as she could.

Carth went to the doorway and paused there, seeming so confused and even angry with himself. He turned his head slightly.

"Which way's the guys' dorm?"

Lire bit her lip worriedly.

"Right through the garage, then right again, then left."

"Sounds so easy I bet it's not," he muttered, lightly rubbing the cargo hold's entryway.

Lire sighed and bowed her head for a moment. She couldn't bear seeing him like this. It broke her heart to watch him suffer so. She crept up behind him, gently laying her hand on his shoulder. He flinched ever so faintly, but she just gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Flyboy," she murmured, "let me help you. _Please._"

Carth sighed to himself and was silent for what felt like a very long time. Lire gave his shoulder another squeeze before he shrugged.

"Might as well."

He held his arm out slightly, so Lire clasped her hands about it. Carth turned in her direction for a minute, and there was the faintest flicker of a smile on his face.

"I don't care _what_ Mission says behind my back," he said. "Just don't hobble me along like some old geezer. I—"

"I know," Lire smiled. "You haven't hit forty yet."

Carth nodded once, decidedly, as Lire shook her head slightly. Well, she'd have no problem walking him to the men's dorm at a normal pace. She didn't want to make him feel like an old man any more than he wanted to feel like one. Besides, she'd seen Jolee in combat; he didn't totter along even though he was old enough to be her grandfather. Yet he still kept up quite well with the rest of the crew even though he grouchily called them "whippersnappers" from time to time. Lire smiled to herself as she and Carth started off down the corridor toward the men's dorm. They passed through the cargo hold, careful not to awaken Canderous or HK-47 (who had rather willingly offered to blast "the defective piloting meatbag," much to Lire's consternation), before soon arriving at the dorm. But at the door, Lire released Carth's arm and ushered him on ahead.

"Find your bunk," she told him.

His eyebrows skyrocketed even though he didn't say anything. He'd learned the hard way that it was difficult to try to argue with Lire. So he just stepped hesitantly into the dorm, running his hand along the wall to find the bunks. When he did, he started prodding each of them, testing them for familiarity. Lire nodded slowly; he was learning to recognize things by using reference points that had nothing to do with sight. After a minute, he let out a breath and sat down on one of the bunks.

"It's this one," he said, sounding certain and even proud of himself. "I know it is. Smells like my aftershave."

Lire smiled broadly although she knew he wouldn't see it. She crossed the room to his side and sat down beside him, taking his hands and putting them to her face so he would be able to feel her smile.

"You got it," she said. "I told you that you'd be able to do this."

A smile almost, _almost_ dawned on his face, but it was quickly supplanted by a miserable frown. Lire couldn't remember seeing such a roller coaster of emotions since she was dawning on her own adolescence about eighteen years ago. But she didn't ask him what was wrong. Instead, she just reached over and snaked her hand into his. He sandwiched her hand between his palms, sighing thinly. They sat there in the dimly lit dorm for a long time before he even dared to speak, and when he did, it was in a hushed tone.

"I've still got that brain damage. And who's to say it's not going to get worse, that I won't forget _everything_?"

"That's why I want to get you to the Council," Lire replied gently. "They're good at things like this. They pretty much _have_ to be, if you count the way Bastila practically worships them as a good indicator of their skills. But they had to have mastered the Force; otherwise they wouldn't be in charge of the Academy."

"I just . . ." He paused, sighing again and running a hand through his hair. "I don't want to lose everything. Or myself. I don't want to be the poor demented freak who sits in the corner all by himself, avoided by everybody who passes by. Yeah, I know I'm getting poetic, but dammit, Lire!"

He growled in frustration under his breath, but Lire didn't jump in with some cheerful response of "Nonsense! You'll be fine!" Instead, she just decided to let him get this off his chest. Normally she could tell when he needed to talk. Whenever that was the case, he got stoic and unnaturally silent. She just decided to head this off before he got to that point.

"How much more am I gonna forget, huh?" he asked, staring straight ahead as he would for Force knew how long. "I already forgot _your_ face . . . How long's it gonna be before I can recognize, say, Mission's voice but won't be able to put a face to it? And hers oughtta be _easy_ to remember! I mean, how many fourteen-year-old Twi'lek girls do you know?"

"Just the one," Lire replied, "and she feels horrible about all this. Carth, she thinks all this is her fault! She got a moment of target fixation in that tomb and freaked, and now she thinks that she's to blame here! And she's worried sick about you, bless her heart. Maybe once you learn the ship's layout, you can go see her, go talk to her. She'd like to know that this _isn't_ her fault. And, Flyboy, I _know_ you're hurting. But . . . you just need to take this one step at a time. Like in the cargo hold. Remember?"

She waited to see his response to that, and after a moment, he nodded. It wasn't hesitant, as it would be if that memory were already hazy, but it was slow and mournful. She just gave his hands a squeeze.

"Let us help," she said. "Please. We're your friends, Carth; don't shut us out."

He didn't reply to that. Instead, he turned away and stretched out on his bunk, folding his hands behind his head. Lire took the hint and stood, sighing almost inaudibly as she turned toward the dorm door. When she reached the door, she paused with her hand on the circular frame and glanced back inside. Carth's eyes were closed, and she couldn't tell if he were asleep or not. Yet in the faint light that the dimmed sconces on the wall were emitting, she thought she could see several drops of water on his face, slipping from the corner of his eye and down his temple toward his hairline. Lire's heart clenched with sympathy, and she patted the doorway once.

"Good night, Carth," she murmured. "If you need anything, you yell, okay?"

No response. Lire wondered if she should have said that. She wanted to help him, but she also knew he didn't want to feel helpless. But what else could she have said? "If you need something, get it yourself"? That wouldn't have sounded right, either. She just prayed he'd understood her meaning as she left the dorm, headed back for her own bed. Yet as she crossed by the main hold, she made a detour for the comm room just off of the cockpit. T3-M4 was recharging for the night in there—the droid equivalent of sleep—but when she entered, he readily awakened upon recognizing his master. Lire smiled at the little droid and crouched down next to him.

"Do me a favor, T3," she said, and the droid whistled his consent. "Get us to Dantooine, but take the longer route. I don't want to risk crossing Sith airspace and getting their fighter squadrons after us. Sidestep any known locations of Sith fleets."

T3 blipped questioningly; he obviously wanted to know why his master wanted to take the long route to Dantooine instead of the normal way. Lire sighed.

"Let's just say I hope not to need to go there by the time we get there, okay?"

T3 beeped an acknowledgment as he unhooked himself from his charging station and zipped off to the cockpit. Lire rose from the floor and watched him go, feeling the lurch when the ship took off from Korriban's dark surface (she was grateful she had obtained permission to come and go as she pleased) and leaped to hyperspace. That little droid was handy little fellow, she found, and he seemed to be developing an almost human personality the longer he was with sentient beings. T3 returned shortly to inform her that the _Ebon Hawk_ was flying completely on auto-pilot, and he admitted that he had total faith in that particular auto-pilot configuration. It was one of the most reliable auto-pilot mechanisms on the spaceship market, he informed Lire, and she smiled.

"Thanks, T3. You get yourself charged up again."

With that, she turned to leave, and T3 beeped something that sounded like "Good night!" as she left. Lire nodded to him before disappearing, and in a few moments she was back in the ladies' dorm. Bastila was still hard asleep; Mission, on the other hand, was wide awake. She was sitting on the edge of her bunk, hugging her knees. She looked imploringly at Lire when Lire entered.

"He's gonna be okay, right?" she asked for the hundredth time. Lire sighed.

"Yes, Mish," she said, wondering if lying to protect someone led to the Dark Side. She figured it didn't. "He'll be fine."

There was silence for a minute as Lire crawled into her own bunk and snuggled down under the blankets. Yet when she saw that Mission had not done the same, she rolled over onto her side, propped her head in her hand, and looked steadily at the girl. Mission frowned deeply at her.

"How long are you gonna keep lyin' to me, huh, Lire?" was all she asked. "Every time I ask, it's always 'He's fine, Mish' or 'He'll be all right; I promise.' What gives?!"

Lire inhaled sharply yet silently. That girl certainly could be astute, she mused. She pushed herself up again, legs draped over the edge of her bunk as she looked at Mission.

"You want the truth, Mish?" she asked, and Mission nodded. "All right. He's got some brain damage. But I'm hoping it's nothing that a little time won't heal. But just to be sure, we're headed for Dantooine now." She noticed that Mission now looked stricken, and she hurried to continue. "And no, it is _not_ your fault. He doesn't blame you; I don't blame you; so you shouldn't blame yourself. He'll heal, Mish. I _know_ he will."

"Are you sure?" Mission's voice was unnaturally small and timid. Lire nodded once.

"Yes."

Yet even as she said the word she wondered if she were indeed certain of that. She hated to give out false hopes to which to cling, but she really had no alternative. She didn't know what would happen; as it were, the Force was hard enough to monitor from one moment to the next without tragedies and such that could alter it in a million ways. But Mission seemed to accept her seemingly resolute belief that all would be well in a little while, so she rolled over and tugged the covers up over her head. Lire lay awake a while longer, thinking, before she crawled out of bed and padded back down the corridors to the men's dorm. Silent as a shadow, she crept into the dorm and eased herself into one of the other bunks. She watched Carth for a long time before she concluded that he was asleep; his slow, steady breathing indicated this quite clearly. Yet she was intent upon keeping an eye on him, and her plan was to watch over him that night and be gone before the morning cycle. And now she was anticipating the barrage of questions and complaints that would come from her asking T3 to fly them away from Korriban for the time being without telling the rest of the crew. But that didn't matter much to her, so she just rolled over onto her stomach and watched Carth sleep for a good hour or two before she shoved a pillow under her head and closed her own eyes to attempt to get some rest of her own.


	5. Part Five: Bound

**Part Five – Bound **

When the morning cycle came to the _Hawk_, it took Lire longer than usual—and certainly longer than she would've liked—to get up. By the time that she was totally awake and free of all grogginess, she could tell that the rest of the crew were wide awake and that her plan to be the first one up had worked completely the opposite way. As she shoved herself up from the bunk, a familiar voice spoke out to her, making her jump and yelp in surprise.

"Care to explain why you're in the guys' dorm?"

Lire clutched her chest as she looked up to find Carth leaning against the wall, arms crossed and head turned in her direction. She sighed as she swung her legs over the edge of the bunk.

"How'd you know I was here?!" she asked with surprise.

"For one thing," Carth answered with a shrug, "you mumble in your sleep. You're the only one on this bucket that does. You must have interesting conversations with whoever you're dreaming about."

Lire smiled sheepishly to herself as Carth let out a low snort of laughter. But after a moment, he crossed the dorm quite handily and settled himself on his own bunk.

"All right, what gives?" he asked. "What, are you now spying on me to make sure I don't hurt myself in the middle of the night?"

Lire started to protest but realized that doing so would be futile as he had already discovered her reasons for being in that dorm. In the back of her mind, she could envision Canderous spreading rumors that she hadn't been in the dorm just to keep an eye on Carth. She could also imagine what would happen when she protested that _was_ her purpose; the Mandalorian would probably make a snide remark that she more than likely got quite an eyeful of the pilot. Lire ground her back teeth and clenched her teeth, already planning how she'd haul off and slap Canderous if he so much as snickered. After a moment, she sighed and let her shoulders fall limp as she slowly rubbed the back of her neck.

"Yeah, I was," she replied, hearing the quiet yet sharp inhale. "Are you angry?"

"Not angry," came Carth's reply after a long moment. "Just a little twirked that you didn't ask. I think I'm old enough _not_ to need a babysitter."

"Oh, I know," Lire quickly countered. "It was a last-minute thought I had. Mission and I were talking and I got worried about you. I'll stay in my own dorm from here on in if that helps."

"Certainly lets me feel more independent," Carth muttered, almost irritably, "since that's _obviously_ what you're trying to make me by making me find things on my own. You know it took me ten minutes to find my razor this morning, or that I nicked myself twice? Guess I don't know my own fracking face as well as I thought."

He sighed and clenched his jaw, and Lire noticed two thin scars on his chin. She reached over and took a firm hold on his shoulder, giving it something of a shake.

"Don't go getting depressed on me," she stated calmly yet authoritatively. "We're going to Dantooine, and we're going to talk to the Council. They're going to be able to help you; I just know it."

"You should've heard the ruckus when the others found out you'd plucked us up from Korriban without any warning," Carth said, deliberately sidestepping her semi-ultimatum. He chuckled dryly. "Bastila was like to have a bantha even though T3 told her we were headed for Dantooine."

"And I think I know why," Lire answered. "She thinks everything I do has to be run past her for approval since she's in charge of this little assignment."

She sighed and rose from the bunk, headed for the dorm door. Carth didn't follow; instead, he stayed seated on his bunk, hands clasped and brows furrowed as if in thought. Lire casually cleared her throat, and his head jerked in her direction.

"You gonna be okay, Flyboy?" she asked, noting the way he was almost sadly sitting there.

"Yep."

"I don't need to worry about you, do I?"

"Nope."

"All right, then."

Lire then left the dorm, hoping she had left the impression of being worry-free when in reality she _was_ concerned for his welfare. She had no way of knowing his thoughts, but she was most certain that they revolved around his memories of his life. She knew that if she were in his position, she, too, would attempt to cling to everything she _did_ know in case more should be lost.

She was about to enter the main hold and go pacify Bastila when something like a fireball seemingly exploded behind her eyes. She choked back a yelp of surprise and pain as she staggered sideways, groping for a wall as everything suddenly went dark.

"_Oh, Force, not me, too,"_ she thought in horrified fear as she sank to her knees on the floor panels, holding her head.

Abruptly, her head began pounding like a sledgehammer as hot tears of pain streamed down her face. She gritted her back teeth against that terrifying sensation that her brain was exploding, that her entire body was on fire, and that her life was about to end. She was just about to cry for help when the pain suddenly dissipated and she was left sitting on the floor of the dorm corridor, panting and shaking. She forced her eyes open and looked hurriedly around; everything was normal. She most certainly wasn't blind, and there was nothing physically wrong with her. But what that . . . that _feeling_ was . . . She had no idea. All she knew, as she stumbled to her feet and attempted to compose herself, was that she certainly needed to speak with the Jedi Council before this situation grew any worse. Again she started into the cargo hold and was almost run into by T3-M4, who announced to her in a series of excited beeps and whistles that they would be coming out of hyperspace at Dantooine in a matter of seconds. Then, as if on cue, the _Ebon Hawk_ lurched, T3 raced back to the cockpit, and Bastila appeared out of almost nowhere. She surveyed Lire with pursed lips and a slight frown.

"And _why_ didn't you ask if we could return to Dantooine?" she asked, tapping her foot once and only once. Lire sighed exasperatedly, wiping sweat from her forehead with her sleeve and trying to be calm.

"Because I consider helping Carth more important than asking for permission," she replied, neatening her robes. "I think the Council might be able to help him."

Bastila seemed to accept that, and she almost turned away to go wait by the boarding ramp for when the ship docked at the Academy, but then she noticed Lire press her forehead against a wall and exhale heavily.

"What is it?" Bastila asked, reaching out a concerned hand. "Are you all right?"

Lire nodded once, forehead still pressed to the cool metal wall, and Bastila's delicate mouth contorted in a frown.

"No, something's amiss," she said. "I can sense it from you. What's wrong?"

"I said, nothing," Lire replied, looking up as the ship lurched slightly upon landing. "I just need to go talk to the Council, is all."

"You're _certain_?"

Lire leveled the other Jedi with one warning glare.

"Yes."

Lire turned away and pushed past Bastila, heading for the now-extended boarding ramp. She was just about to walk down it when she snapped her fingers, sighed, and turned the other way.

"Bas, go tell them I wanna see them," she said, motioning down the ramp. "I'll be right with you."

Bastila nodded her assent and hurried down the ramp as Lire turned back toward the men's dorm. Almost immediately, Mission seemingly materialized at her side, bearing a bright, cheerful grin.

"Mornin', Lire!" she said, and Lire turned to look at her.

"You're perky today."

"Yep! See, me an' Carth had a little talk before you got up this morning. He said that since he didn't blame me for this mess, I shouldn't either. Ain't that sweet of him?"

Lire smiled wanly, trying to overcome the residual nervousness from that mysterious experience she'd had only a few minutes before. She reached out and patted the girl's shoulder, nodding.

"That's great, Mish," she said. "We're gonna go talk to the Council, so—"

"Hey, can I come?" Mission asked. "I sure would like to. After all, you and Carth are both my friends."

"Sure," Lire answered, coming to the entryway of the dorm. "Go catch up with Bastila; I'll be there in a minute."

Mission tossed her a quick, two-fingered salute before turning and darting for the loading ramp. Lire sighed; sometimes that girl could be too much, but she still thought affectionately of her. She then turned her attention to the men's dorm; Carth was still seated inside on his bunk. Lire knocked on the wall, and his head turned in her direction.

"Hey," she said. "We're gonna go talk to the Council now. Want to come?"

"Nah, that's okay," Carth replied quietly. "I'll stay right here in my dark little world."

Lire's eyebrows skyrocketed as she walked over and sat down beside him. Now she noticed that he held in his hands a short length of chain and that he was tugging steadily on it as if willing it to snap. But what had attracted her attention was that the words he had spoken were so uncharacteristic of him. It was as if he were sinking steadily into depression, and that was what she had feared all along. So she just kept her voice calm and understanding.

"Well, when it's time, I'll come for you," she said, deciding to turn his attention to something else. She nodded at the chain. "What've you got there? Not considering suicide by strangulation, I hope?"

Carth held up the chain and yanked on it for a while, shaking his head after a moment. Lire heaved an inward sigh; that certainly was good to know. At least she didn't have to worry _too_ much for him.

"Stress relief," was all he said.

"That's the most unique use I've ever seen for a bit of chain," Lire answered brightly, watching the way the muscles in his arms flexed and relaxed with each tug on the chain. There was the faintest hint of a smile on Carth's face.

"You don't have to say that just to make me feel warm and fuzzy."

"I know. So I wasn't."

"Oh."

Lire chuckled under her breath as she reached over and took his hand, gently stroking his palm, calloused from years of finessing a blaster.

"Okay, so, I'm gonna go have a little talk with the Council. I'm not confining you to the ship, so if you wanna go somewhere, you take T3 or somebody. Don't take HK; he'll be tempted to shoot everything in his path, and I'd rather not have to pay for that damage. And if you take Canderous with you, _try_ not to get into a shouting match like you two did last time. Mission's going to be with me and Bastila, so you can choose any of the others. Now, have fun, don't get into any trouble you can't get out of, and I'll be back in a little while."

Lire squeezed his hand and hopped up from the bunk, tidying her appearance as she left the ship and breaking into an easy jog as she headed for the Council chambers, mentally constructing a list of everything she wanted to discuss with them. Perhaps Master Vrook would not be so cross with her this time. This was the true indication of her perceived severity of the situation: normally, she would not approach the Council for any reason except an emergency because she was far from fond of the petulant Vrook Lamar. As soon as she entered the Council chambers, the Masters, Bastila, and Mission were there waiting for her, and they seemed to have already been discussing the matter. When Lire approached, Master Vandar Tokare looked up and motioned her closer.

"Ah, Padawan Dakaar, come in," he said gently. "Bastila has just been relaying to us the current situation. Most distressing."

"Well, that saves me a lot of explanation," Lire answered, folding her arms. "So let's cut right to the chase. Can you help him?"

"Not so quickly," Vrook replied, causing Lire to fight down an annoyed eye roll. "She also informed us of some unusual behavior on your part. She claims you appeared to be suffering some sort of physical pain."

Lire turned and narrowed her eyes at Bastila, who lifted her hands in something of a declaration of innocence. She was about to make some cold, biting remark to Bastila, but then she noticed that Mission's eyes were wide with worry. That cooled her angry fire immediately, but it didn't stop her from making one comment under her breath.

"You just don't keep secrets very well, do you?"

"I had no choice!" Bastila replied, indignant. "You seemed like you were in pain! I didn't feel anything through our bond, but I'm not—I mean, I could still tell."

"It is all right, Bastila," Vandar replied, ever patient when Lire had moments of feistiness. "She understands. We simply wish to know, Lire, what happened that caused you pain."

Lire took a deep breath as Mission came over and clutched her arm, but then she squared her shoulders back and made eye contact with each of the Masters, deciding to make this as diplomatic a discussion as possible.

"I was talking with Carth," she explained, patting Mission's hand. "When I left him, everything went dark—as if I'd been stricken blind, too. Then my head felt as if it might explode any minute, and it was as if . . ." She trailed off, thinking, but then she gasped in realization. "It was as if a plasma mine had just gone off in my face."

Mission's eyes went wider than they already were, and Bastila's eyebrows slowly rose. The Masters exchanged a few looks among them as Master Zhar Lestin gently motioned for Lire to approach him. She did, albeit willingly, and he surveyed her with a practiced eye.

"Tell me, Padawan," he said. "Do you feel any residing pain or strange sensations?"

Lire paused a moment and focused her concentration on herself. Deep inside, she found a part of herself that stung whenever she put the faintest amount of pressure via the Force on it. Within that part she found the overwhelming, terrifying darkness that had surrounded her earlier, yet that part was wrapped in something that looked like a small golden ribbon.

"I . . . I _do_ feel something," she said, and Zhar nodded.

"It is as we thought, then," he said, tone patient—quite the polar opposite of Vrook's seemingly permanent scowl. "Bastila explained to us all that transpired on Korriban, and we think that you somehow have become bonded with your pilot Carth Onasi."


	6. Part Six: Drowning Sorrows

**Part Six – Drowning Sorrows**

A shocked gasp came out of Mission as Lire's jaw dropped. What? Bonded?! How could that be? She had not had any sort of romantic encounter with him, so this was not created by a physical union of any kind. Then again, neither was her bond with Bastila, yet neither of them had experienced anything like this. Lire tried her best to come up with a relatively intelligent way of posing all her mounting questions to them but failed miserably, instead settling on the simplest way of all.

"What?"

"Perhaps I'd better explain," Master Dorak chimed in as Vrook harrumphed. "You see, bonding is a complicated matter. This bond with your pilot is similar to yours and Bastila's, though more understandable. You and Bastila did not know each other before—"

"Before Taris," Vandar offered. Dorak nodded and quietly cleared his throat; Lire arched an eyebrow.

"Before Taris. But you and your pilot have had time to develop a friendship, and that is what this bond appears to be: one created by time rather than destiny."

"So," Lire said slowly, lifting her index finger as if about to make a point, "I'm now bound to Carth, too? But you said the one with Bassie over there was a whole lot more complex, yet I can _never_ feel any pain off of her. What gives?"

"Perhaps it is your training," Vrook suggested, sounding tired and perhaps bored with Lire's almost child-like curiosity. "Both of you have had training to block out pain, yet your pilot has not. Perhaps in thinking back on how he lost his sight, it was as if he relived it in his mind, and he in turn passed that pain to you."

"But if we're _just_ friends," Lire argued, "and this is a _just_ friends sort of bond, how in the _world_ did I get bound tightly enough to him for his pain to be transmitted to me?!"

"I sensed your wanting to understand his agony," Bastila said quietly. "The Force, albeit complicated, does have something of a mind of its own as well as a will. Perhaps it granted your desire to understand."

Lire arched an eyebrow; she had a feeling there was something no one in this room was keen on telling her, some very important little trivia tidbit that was being conveniently forgotten. She found that horribly suspicious. As if sensing her mistrust, Vandar moved quickly to placate her.

"Perhaps through meditation we may discover how this bond was formed and more fully understand its purpose," he said. "Let Bastila help you. After all, she _is_ your closest ally."

Lire sighed and nodded; she thought this was a little extreme, but if it would help Carth in the long run, then perhaps it wouldn't be such a difficult burden to bear. Yet as she took up a cross-legged position on the floor of the Council chambers, Bastila at her side and the Masters around her, she couldn't help but feel as if they all were hiding things from her, as if secrets were being whispered behind her back. It was one of those moments where she felt as a young child does when she walks into a room to find her parents talking, but as soon as the parents notice her, they go immediately silent. Yet Lire pushed aside her misgivings as she focused on Vandar's somewhat gravelly voice and the instructions he spoke.

The meditation took three hours too many and Lire _still_ hadn't gotten any decent answers by the end of it. Instead, she'd gotten a long lecture from Vrook on how attachments of any sort were to be avoided since they were dangerous and could, according to the Council, lead to the Dark Side. Lire argued that she'd never asked for this bond, and Vrook just waved her off and refused to say another word to her. Those Jedi always seemed to be hiding things from her; it'd seemed that way ever since Taris. It was as if they didn't trust her. Oh, sure, they trusted her just fine when it came to sending her out to risk her life by stopping Malak from taking over the universe, but they didn't trust her enough to tell her things that they could tell Bastila. She despised that feeling of being left out, kept in the dark—"left out of the loop" as Carth put it. She certainly knew how he felt on that front.

After that fruitless meditation session, Bastila had remained behind with the Council while Mission had vanished into the depths of the Academy's refectory, claming she was "starving." Lire, on the other hand, returned to the _Ebon Hawk_ to see how Carth was getting along. When she entered the ship, the first thing she noticed was how _quiet_ it was inside. A quick scan revealed that the vessel had not been abandoned: Canderous was simply cleaning his weaponry as Jolee tinkered with the medbay's equipment and Juhani meditated in the cargo hold. But when she reached the men's dorm, she found quite a surprise. Carth was nowhere in sight, and he certainly wasn't in any other part of the ship. She'd checked the cockpit and he hadn't been there, but then she remembered how she'd offered him the opportunity to leave the ship if he wanted. She just hadn't expected him to take her up on that offer! As she stood staring at the empty dorm, something clanked up behind her. A moment later, she heard a familiar mechanical voice.

"Query: Master, are you looking for the defective Republic meatbag?"

Lire turned and sighed, her gaze falling on HK-47, the assassin droid known for enjoying killing and taking pride in his bloodthirstiness. She recalled how that droid had cost her more than she _ever_ would've normally paid for a droid and that Mission had remarked in shock that he stood at least a full head above Carth _and_ Canderous.

"Yes, HK," she replied. "Where did he go?"

"Answer: The defective meatbag left here approximately three-point-two-seven hours ago, or approximately ten-point-eight minutes after you left," HK stated rather matter-of-factly. "He took the annoyingly cheerful astromech droid with him and was last seen headed in the direction of the Academy's courtyard."

The droid cocked his triangular metallic head from side to side as if in curiosity as he studied his master.

"Statement: I don't know _why_ you insist upon showing such concern for the Republic meatbag, Master. Probing Query: Are your female meatbag hormones overwhelming you and perhaps interfering with your normally sensible—however pacific—thought and behavioral patterns? Proposition: If it would help any, Master, I would gladly relieve you of the offending party. After all, it _has_ been excruciatingly boring here lately, and my circuits crave a good firefight. And even droids—"

"I know, I know," Lire sighed, raising a hand. "Even droids deserve a little fun from time to time."

"Pleased Statement: Master, you are learning. That warms my sadly rust-covered frame right to my behavior core."

Lire turned away so the droid wouldn't see how she rolled her eyes in exasperation. After a moment, she turned around and sighed again. Sometimes HK and all his bloodlust could be quite exhausting.

"So, the courtyard?" she said, and had HK been able to nod, he would've. "Well, T3 doesn't go very fast in grass . . . His motivators get stuck too easily. They can't have gone very far."

She turned and darted down the hall back toward the boarding ramp even as HK whined after her about longing desperately for combat. If she hadn't needed his translational skills back on Tatooine, she certainly never would've wasted her hard-earned credits to purchase him!

Jogging back through the Academy, Lire eventually reached the courtyard. A quick interrogation of the Jedi milling about revealed the information that Carth and T3 had indeed set off across the plains and that the little droid had been doing quite a good job at giving directional instructions to Carth so that the two of them would not get lost. Inside, she was grateful that T3 had more concern for humans than HK did; sometimes the little astro droid seemed almost human himself. But Lire wasted no time. She shot off across the plains at less of a casual jog and more at an out-and-out sprint. Worried? Perhaps.

She almost tore those plains apart that afternoon. The odd kath hound attack only slowed her momentarily, for she was so deeply involved in her quest that she wouldn't let anything stop her. Yet she eventually reached a point where she wondered how in the galaxy she'd _ever_ be able to find Carth and T3, and she was mulling this problem over when her comlink buzzed—and she realized suddenly that she could've saved time and called T3 to ask where they were. Grumbling under her breath at her own ignorance, Lire clipped her lightsaber back onto her belt and tugged out her comlink, flipping it on.

"Yes?"

A hurried series of concerned beeps and whistles answered her.

"Whoa, whoa, T3! Slow down!"

One apologetic bleep.

"That's okay. Now, _what_ happened?"

She may have asked the little droid to slow down, but he most certainly did _not_. Instead, the crazed beeping only grew worse, and Lire found herself actually struggling to understand the little astro.

"Carth did _what_? I tell ya, T3, you're talking too fast!"

If droids could sigh, T3 would have. However, the story came in again—much slower this time. Lire listened intently until the tale came to an end, at which point her eyes widened.

"_What?!_"

Disbelieving and annoyed blips answered her. She chuckled.

"No, no, I don't want you to repeat it. That was disbelief."

One whistle: "Oh." Lire smiled faintly, but that vanished instantly as she processed what the droid had just told her. Her jaw dropped open as she took off across the plains again.

"Look, T3, don't move from there. Don't let _him_ move, especially. I'll be there in a minute. Just _don't move_!"

There was an affirming beep before the comlink went silent and Lire tucked it back into its safety pouch on her belt. Then she poured more speed into her stride, drawing on the Force to fuel her feet. The nearest town wasn't all that far from the Academy, but she certainly wanted to get there before any more damage could be done. Oh, she surely hoped things weren't as bad as T3 had made them out to be . . . She just kept going.

After a while, Lire came to the outskirts of the town. It was a good five miles from the Academy, and she was exhausted. Her Force energy, as well as her natural stamina, was drained. Yet she didn't stop. She paused momentarily to regain her breath before striding determinedly through town and straight to the cantina, shoving open the door and walking right in. She ignored the whistles and catcalls of the half-drunk male patrons as she headed for a back booth—the one beside which T3 was anxiously rocking back and forth. He hooted miserably when he caught sight of his master, who nodded once at him and slid into the booth. Carth looked hazily up at the sound of someone settling down across from him, his already bleary eyes even more so. Lire groaned to herself as she frowned ever so deeply at him, reaching across the table and pulling the whiskey bottle and shot glass from his hands. He whimpered pathetically, but she remained firm.

"I thought I told you _not_ to get into any trouble you couldn't get out of again," she said calmly yet with a tone of authority. Carth shrugged limply.

"Y' di'n't say I couldn't come out," he answered, words slurred. "A'tually, y' said I could have fun."

"Not _this_ kind of fun, Carth," Lire replied with a sigh. "What's wrong with you?! I thought you knew better than to come out and get drunk for no reason."

"Oh, I got a reason. Got a _good_ one."

He felt around and found the bottle in Lire's hands, snatching it back before she could react. She tried to yank it away again, but he held tightly to it as he chuckled under his breath.

"Yep, got me a _good_ reason," he went on. "Y'see, I find it ain't likely I'm gonna see so much as m' own hand, so . . ."

He shrugged and took a long swig from the bottle. Lire's jaw dropped open as T3 whistled mournfully again. After a moment or two, Carth looked up in Lire's direction again, and she did _not_ like the dull eyes she saw. So she took the initiative and grabbed his hand.

"C'mon, Flyboy," she said. "We're going back to the ship, and you're going to just relax."

"Don' wanna . . ."

"Well, that's nice, but I say you should, so c'mon."

She clambered out of her side of the bunk and hefted him up, and the way his legs turned almost to rubber as soon as he stood on them made her wonder just how much he'd been drinking anyway. She handed T3 a few credit chips and instructed him to pay Carth's rather large tab, and the droid scooted away to do so. Though Carth protested—and loudly—Lire helped him out of the cantina. She wondered what would've happened to him in the Republic fleet if he'd gotten this drunk on duty. No doubt he would've been disciplined quite severely. She sighed to herself; she should've _known_ something like this would've happened, so she should've been able to prevent it! She had had a feeling that this blindness would lead to depression that would, in turn, lead to mischief.

As soon as they left the cantina, Lire helped Carth to the edge of town, where she settled him on a nearby boulder. She gave T3 one instruction: to call one of the others and get them to bring out a landspeeder so they wouldn't have to walk the five miles back to the Academy. T3 whistled an acknowledgment as he rolled off a short distance to get a better signal on his implanted comlink. Lire sighed thinly and settled next to Carth on the stone, holding him steady with one hand and neatening his mussed hair with the other. As she gently smoothed his hair back into place, Carth turned in her general direction and exhaled slowly through his nose.

"Lire," he said, voice low, rough, drunk . . . tired, even. "Anybody ever tell you you're a helluva woman?"

Lire's head jerked up at that.

"What?"

"Y' are, y'know," Carth said. "A _helluva_ woman. Got this . . . spirit, y'know. Makes ya strong. And . . . I seem t' recall that you've got a body that's like to make grown men cry like little bitty babies. Yep . . ." He chuckled almost wickedly. "Got a backside no Twi'lek dancin' girl could top . . ."

He chuckled again, and Lire felt heat rise in her face as she shifted uncomfortably on he boulder. She knew he was most certainly drunk, but she didn't know quite how to respond. After a moment, Carth leaned over and nuzzled the side of her neck. Had Lire not already known he was intoxicated, she certainly would've known it then!

"That ain't all," he murmured at her ear, voice almost . . . _sultry_. "Y' don't tell me t' shuddup when I come an' talk about all my frackin' issues. An' you keep everybody in line. An' . . . you attempt t' look nice jus' 'cause y' can. An' you always smell so pretty, so feminine, and . . ."

The next moment, he kissed the side of her neck, and Lire thought she sensed lust in that kiss. She instantly stiffened, for she didn't know how to react. She thought she should push him away and hold him at arm's length because she knew very well that he wouldn't do this were he sober.

"Carth, stop it," she said, trying to shove him away as he kissed her neck again—much longer this time. "You're just dead drunk."

"That don't matter."

"Yes, it _does_. You're doing things you wouldn't normally do—Force!"

Her sudden exclamation was evoked by his hand trailing up her arm and his fingers lacing through her hair. His other arm snaked around her waist and held her close.

"What's th' matter?" he asked when she tensed and tried to struggle away.

"You're _drunk_—that's what the matter is!" Lire replied. "For Force's sake, don't do anything you're going to regret!"

"I ain't gonna regret it."

He kissed her neck again, nipping almost playfully at her, but this time . . . Lire found herself succumbing to enjoyment as his stubbled jaw brushed across her skin. She didn't know whether to be horrified or relieved that she didn't feel like struggling. She knew Bastila would have a conniption fit if she ever found out, but at the moment . . . she didn't care. For some reason, she no longer felt like resisting. She just sighed as she pressed her cheek against the top of Carth's head, tenderly stroking his hair.

"What was it you said I was, Flyboy?" she asked softly, all too quickly drowning in his arms.

"Said you're a helluva woman," came the intoxicatingly husky reply.

Lire smiled to herself as she carefully pushed back, taking Carth's hands and putting them to her face so he could "see" her smile. A lopsided—and drunken—little smile quirked at his mouth, and Lire just reached over and caressed his strong jaw. For a split second, she wondered if she were wrong to be allowing this to happen. Maybe she should've refused to give in to him from the beginning. But she wasn't exactly forced to let this continue until they both had reason to be ashamed. There were some things she could ignore; the animated pounding of her heart was not one of those things.

"You know what _I_ think, Carth Onasi?" she murmured, and he shook his head. Lire took a slow breath and put one of her hands on either side of his face. "I think . . . that you're a helluva man."

She certainly could have stopped herself but didn't as she gently kissed him. Her kiss was sweet and tender, perhaps like a teenaged schoolgirl's first kiss might be, but the kiss she received in return was anything but innocent. She sensed that it could've only come from Carth's drunken state, but that knowledge didn't stop her from enjoying it. The pressure of his lips on hers sent a strangely pleasant tingling all the way down to the tips of her toes, and she readily wrapped her arms about his neck. The whole time, she questioned just why the Jedi frowned on relationships when they could be so . . . wonderful.

The moment, however long Lire would've willed it to last, was fleeting. It was cut short by the sound of a landspeeder grinding to a halt nearby. The next moment, the relative peace and silence of the plains were broken by one horrified exclamation.

"_Lire!_ Oh, my Force, _eww_!"

Lire rather quickly pulled away from Carth, breaking the kiss and compromising his already tottering balance. Her gaze immediately fell on a wide-eyed, wide-mouthed Mission, who stood by a landspeeder that bore markings which identified it as belonging to the Academy. She hurriedly neatened her appearance and tidied her hair, clearing her throat.

"Oh, hey, Mish."

"That's it?" Mission asked, incredulous. "I come up to find you two practically makin' out, and all you've got to say is 'Hey, Mish'?!"

"Never mind," Lire replied, feeling mortified heat rise in her face. "Just help me get him into that speeder and back to the Academy. He's had a little bit too much fun today."

"Aw, now, Lire," Carth complained as Lire helped him to his feet. Once again, he wobbled rather precariously. "I ain't so very drunk . . ."

"Yeah," Mission scoffed, deadpan. "You _always_ suck face with the closest Jedi girl."

"I said that was _enough_," Lire said, voice firmer this time. She certainly was _not_ pleased that Mission wasn't letting this go. Mission shrugged.

"All right, but I can't say it'll be pretty when Bastila finds out . . ."

Lire wheeled around on the girl, face bright red and eyes narrowed. The hand that wasn't keeping Carth from falling over in a cold faint was clenched into an angry fist. It was evident that she wanted this . . . _incident_ forgotten, and she wanted it forgotten _now_. Mission just laughed at her expression as she wandered over to help finagle Carth into the waiting landspeeder. T3 rolled up alongside Lire, beeping morosely. Lire glanced down at him and sighed.

"Yes, T3?"

"_Dee-dweet dwoo._"

"What?! Well, for Force's sake, why didn't you say something?!"

"_Dee-reet. Dweet!_"

Lire's face turned crimson again as Mission burst out laughing. T3 rocked back and forth on his wheels, gazing almost apologetically up at Lire. She sighed.

"I get it. You didn't want to ruin the romantic mood."

"Aw, man, this is awesome!" Mission guffawed. "You even grossed the droid out, too! 'Cause, I swear, Lire, it _totally_ looked like Carth'd swallowed your face! He must've been givin' you a whole lotta tongue action!"

Lire's face flushed once more as she settled in the back seat of the speeder to keep an eye on Carth, who was half-passed out as it was. Mission helped T3 into the passenger side, still chuckling under her breath. Lire just cleared her throat as nonchalantly as possible.

"Should you even know that phrase?" she asked. Mission looked at her, eyebrows raised mischievously.

"Look, you don't grow up on Taris without learning _something_." She glanced at Carth and giggled before vaulting into the driver's side of the speeder. "One of those things is 'that phrase,' and the other is how to drive a speeder. Now c'mon; let's get him back before he pukes all over the back seat. 'Cause, seriously, that prune-face Master Vrook? He 'bout gave birth to an iriaz when I came for the speeder. He ain't gonna be happy if this thing ain't in perfect condition."

Lire sighed and nodded her consent, and Mission shoved the speeder into gear, headed back for the Academy, giggling off and on the whole way. Lire just hoped the girl would silence herself and stay that way before they got back to the others. As far as she was concerned, there was no reason whatsoever that the others should know this had happened. Of course, as they sped away from the small Dantooine village, none of them—especially not Lire—noticed the dark-cloaked figure slinking along the outskirts.


	7. Part Seven: Delving Inside

**Part Seven**

When the trio returned to the Academy, Mission was still grinning from ear to ear, T3 was trying to scour his memory banks of the scene, Lire was trying to forget _everything_ that'd happened, and Carth wasn't doing a thing. He'd passed out with his head on Lire's lap halfway back to the Academy, and that had silenced Mission for about thirty seconds before she continued with her sporadic giggling. Lire wanted to beat her into the ground for laughing, but she didn't get a chance before they arrived at the Academy and pulled up on the edge of the courtyard. Lire groaned inwardly when she realized that Bastila was there waiting for them, arms crossed and brows furrowed. T3 hooted miserably as Mission burst out laughing, and that in turn caused one of Bastila's sleek eyebrows to arch questioningly. Lire just refused to make eye contact with her fellow Jedi as she jumped from the speeder, reaching back to try to drag Carth out. She realized for the first time that he was _heavy_. Then again, she mused, perhaps most people turned into dead weight when they were drunk and unconscious. Mission, fighting down yet more giggles, came over to help her as T3 practically tumbled from the speeder and raced away toward the _Ebon Hawk_, whistling and beeping in such a way that sounded as if he were mortified by what he'd seen out there on the plains. Eventually, Lire and Mission managed to drag Carth from the speeder, and they split his weight between them.

"Force, he must've been eating bricks, too," Mission grunted as she staggered momentarily.

"Either that or the whiskey went right to his waist," Lire replied, readjusting her hold on Carth. She glared up at Bastila, who stood complacently by a fountain. "You _could_ help, Your Highness."

"What happened to him?" Bastila replied, conveniently appearing as if she'd not heard Lire's last comment. Lire rolled her eyes; that woman could be insufferable.

"He got himself seriously sloshed!" Mission replied all too cheerfully as she broke into a giggling fit again. Bastila blinked.

"He what?"

"_Drunk_, Bas," Lire sighed, her patience running thin. "He got himself _drunk_."

"Whatever for?!"

_Now_ Bastila came over and offered her assistance. Lire gladly shoved some of Carth's weight onto her.

"I dunno," she muttered, adjusting her hold on the pilot for the twelfth time. Bastila glanced at her.

"How about you tell me the _truth_ this time, Lire?"

Lire sighed. Great. If it weren't for that stupid (according to herself) and horribly complex (according to the Council) bond, she might actually be able to lie to Bastila every once in a great while. She considered the multitude of ways that this conversation could go. Bastila could blame _her_ for Carth's inebriation, complain that the whole fiasco was Lire's idea to begin with, decide to make a full report to the Council, _or_ just keep her mouth mercifully shut. Lire personally would've preferred the last option but didn't think it was likely that that would happen any time soon. She tried to think of a creative way of explaining what had happened but soon saw how Bastila was eyeing her, waiting expectantly for an answer. Lire just sighed.

"Fine," she conceded. "He went out and got drunk because he was getting depressed over this whole blindness and brain damage thing. He's scared he's never going to see again, and you know what? I really don't blame him. Not an _inch_. If I were in his boots, I'd be getting myself drunk, too!"

Mission muttered something about boots that caused Lire's face to flush, and she quickly whacked the young Twi'lek upside the shoulder. Bastila was aghast at Lire's explanation, and she very nearly let Carth fall. Lire managed to take up the slack, and she glared at a still-shocked Bastila as the trio worked their way through the courtyard back to the Academy's interior.

"Lire!" Bastila finally exclaimed. "That is _not_ behavior befitting a Jedi! That—"

"I'm not really in the mood for another of your lectures, Bastila," Lire snapped, frowning deeply. "Just help me get him back to the _Hawk_ and then _shut up_!"

"Of all the _nerve_!"

Mission snickered under her breath as Lire rolled her eyes. Sometimes merely Bastila's presence made Lire question why she'd agreed to that Jedi training. Certainly bonds could be broken; had it not been for her helpful nature, she would've refused the training and gone back to taking random jobs across the galaxy. It wasn't that she wasn't good at scouting—with the odd smuggling run—anyway. It was just that she seemed to recall her last ship being confiscated by the Republic not too long before she'd wound up on Coruscant and they'd come knocking looking to recruit her. She just sighed, shifted her hold on Carth once more, and kept heading toward the _Ebon Hawk_.

When the three girls arrived not too long later, HK-47 was standing there by the loading ramp to meet them. Lire fought down a sigh of exasperation as he cocked his metallic head from side to side, and she struggled to ignore him as she and Mission somehow managed to haul Carth, who was mumbling in his sleep and breaking out in a terrible sweat, to the men's dorm and let him flop onto his bunk. HK followed the two to the dorm as Bastila dashed off to fetch a basin of cool water and some cloths. He watched almost with interest—or at least amusement—as Mission grabbed one of Carth's boots and attempted to yank it off. She had a little trouble, so Lire had to come over and help. HK shifted slightly as he tilted his head again.

"Observation: Master, the defective Republic meatbag appears to be intoxicated."

"Just figured that out, didja?" Lire sighed, frustrated, as she wrenched off Carth's other boot and scooted his legs onto the bunk.

"Statement: There is no need to be sarcastic, Master. My primary scans indicate that his blood-alcohol level is twice Dantooine's legal limit. Musing: Such a high level could lead to a severe lack of self-control. Query: Master, did the meatbag force himself on you?"

Lire's back went straight as a board as Mission burst into a fit of raucous laughter. She tried her hardest to keep her expression neutral, however, as she refused to answer and instead turned to tuck Carth into his bunk. By now he was muttering quite incoherently and was sweating quite a good deal. Mission almost started laughing again as Lire reached over and unfastened his jacket, but one stern glare from Lire silenced her. The next moment, Bastila returned with the water and rags, and Lire soaked one of the cloths before squeezing it out and pressing it to Carth's forehead. Bastila bit her lip as he brows furrowed concernedly.

"He doesn't look well," she said, forcing Lire to bite back a snide comment. "Do people normally act like that when they're intoxicated?"

"You don't get out much, do you?" Lire sighed as she continued to tend to the pilot and conveniently ignoring Bastila's question. Bastila harrumphed and crossed her arms.

"Statement: Master, the Jedi meatbag has posed to you a question," HK interjected suddenly before proceeding to remedy the situation himself. "Protocol: For you meat—_sentient beings_, it is impolite to ignore a question when asked. Answer: Negative, Jedi meatbag. Primarily, drunken meatbags tend to lose self-control. Speech is slurred and locomotion is hampered. I have heard of instances in which young meatbags have spawned from such behavior but have not heard of grown ones mumbling in their sleep in such a manner. Proposition: Perhaps the meatbag is dreaming, Master."

"That could be it, I guess," Lire said as she sponged sweat off Carth's chest, evoking raised eyebrows from Bastila and a low snort of laughter from Mission. "Though what he'd be dreaming about . . . No idea."

"You _could_ delve into your bond," Bastila suggested. "The Council believes that it may be strong enough for you to do such things as discern what he sees in his mind."

"Besides," Mission added, "you're gonna have to tell him _sometime_."

Lire paused a moment, biting her lip. She wasn't so sure that she liked the idea of getting inside Carth's mind without asking permission beforehand. But Carth twitched faintly, and she sighed as her heart clenched with sympathy.

"All right, I'll see what's up," she said. "But while I'm doin' that . . . Mish, go find a bucket or something for when he wakes up. And Bastila, go get some medpacs from Jolee; maybe we can calm this hangover a bit before it starts."

Lire settled herself on the foot of the bunk, clasping Carth's hand and closing her eyes as Bastila and Mission scurried off to do as she'd requested. Taking a deep breath, she focused her energy inward and started searching for that golden ribbon she'd spotted earlier. She found it wrapped around her consciousness, and when she did, she slowly started following it to Carth. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that such a thing as this could be possible. But she was right there experiencing it for herself, and she took a moment to grow accustomed to being inside his mind before continuing gently onward, following the cord. Almost immediately, however, she was assaulted by a hundred different images and a hundred overwhelming sensations of pain, fear, anger, betrayal, hate . . . She mentally staggered beneath the weight; how did he live with this from day to day?! Her heart grew heavy with all that pain because now she, too, felt it. Through their link, however strong it was, she could feel _everything_ that troubled him on a daily basis.

She kept following that one yellowish strand deeper and deeper into Carth's very core. Along the way, she tried to block out those horrible scenes but couldn't, and in her own mind she saw some of his most despised memories. She saw Telos burning; smoke hung thick in the air and the stench of sulfur and wounded civilians permeated every hot, fiery wind that blew across the colony. She knew what was coming next and couldn't bear the thought of having to witness it herself. The next moment, she saw it: Carth was kneeling in a pile of rubble, his uniform singed by ashes. Tears were running down his face as he cradled one broken, battered body, pleading with Morgana to please, _please_ wake up, to just come back, to not leave him . . . Lire inhaled shakily as teardrops spilled down her cheeks, and she clutched his hand even tighter as she pushed on past that awful memory, following his strand ever deeper to find what was causing him to mutter in his sleep. For all she knew, it could be anything she'd seen up to that point. Yet as she kept searching, she realized that she now understood him better than she had before.

After a little more searching, Lire found the source of Carth's sleep-talking, and just the sight of it made her blush. She'd expected it to be some terrible thing from his past, but it was instead a dream of _herself_. In that dream, she was dressed in a slinky little blue dress that clung to every curve and showed off her back and collarbones. Her hair, sleek and black, tumbled into her eyes, and she peered almost coyly out from under her long locks, slowly batting long, dark lashes. Oh, so _that_ was what he'd been thinking of, hmm? Lire wondered if she ought to punch him for thinking those thoughts _especially_ since the next thing she saw was that scantily-clad version of herself settled neatly in his lap and stroking his hair. Force, if Bastila ever found out . . . Then again, perhaps these were merely delusions created by his drunken state. But if they weren't, _then_ she'd punch him. But she knew that dream was causing his incoherent muttering and perhaps even all that sweating. Or maybe that sweating was caused by the overload of alcohol his system was trying to deal with. At least, that's what she hoped was causing it.

Carefully, she eased back out of his mind and returned to the present, swiping the last remaining bits of salt off her face as she returned to pressing those cool cloths against his skin. A moment or two later, both Bastila and Mission returned.

"Sorry it took so long," Mission said hurriedly, thrusting a few medpacs into Lire's hands. "What'd you find out?"

"He was just dreaming," Lire replied as casually as possible as she took one of the medpacs and injected it into Carth's arm. "Now, where's that bucket?"

Bastila held it up before setting it down beside the bunk. Mission still looked curious.

"What was he dreaming _about_, though?"

"It was kind of hazy," Lire lied oh-so-convincingly.

The way Bastila's mouth opened then quickly closed informed Lire that Bastila was wisely keeping her mouth shut about that little lie. For that Lire was grateful; she certainly didn't want _anyone_ knowing what that dream was _really_ about. As far as she was concerned, she wouldn't even tell Carth that she'd found out! So she just kept injecting the medpacs, and Mission stomped off with a huff, disappointed that she hadn't uncovered anymore juicy gossip. Bastila stayed behind a little longer, watching as Lire dabbed at Carth's forehead once more.

"Do you need any help?" she asked.

"Nope, I've got it. You can go and do whatever it is you do in your spare time; I'll take care of him."

"You're sure?" Bastila didn't sound that convinced. Lire sighed.

"Yes. Now, go on; get!"

Bastila left without another word although she kept tossing almost suspicious glances over her shoulder at Lire. It was as if she didn't trust the other to tend to Carth without attempting any . . . _mischief_. But, knowing Lire's personality, she was highly unlikely to try anything even the least bit suspicious. So Lire just sat there at Carth's side, injecting the medpacs until there were none left to inject. That was her way of attempting to counteract the hangover that was bound to come knocking before it ever did. She had just finished with the last medpac when Carth groaned faintly and stirred. Immediately, she pressed a hand to his forehead, checking for any potential fever. There was none; his forehead was cool, yet she pressed that damp cloth against it one more time. A moment later, Carth's eyes flickered open. Lire knew that he still wasn't able to see her; it wasn't as if a miracle had suddenly happened. She hadn't been expecting one, anyway. She just took his hand and gave it a squeeze as he exhaled heavily and put the back of his other hand to his head.

"How long was I out?" he groaned, grimacing and slowly rubbing his temples. "Force, what'd I drink . . ."

"Just a few minutes," Lire answered, "and it looked like ordinary Corellian whiskey to me. How do you feel?"

Carth didn't answer right away; instead, he felt around the edge of his bunk, almost touching the floor and nearly swatting Lire right off the bunk once or twice. The he rather rapidly sat up and motioned hurriedly in the general direction of the entryway.

"Out," he commanded. Lire's brows rose in concern.

"Carth—"

"Out!"

Suddenly, both his strong hands were on Lire's back, shoving her away. To avoid tumbling to the dorm floor, she hopped up and started for the door, glancing back only once.

"Flyboy, what's wrong?"

"Just go, please!"

Lire sighed. She'd hoped it wouldn't come to this. She'd hoped he wouldn't shove her and the others away. Perhaps he really _was_ sinking rapidly into depression. But she just nodded and left the dorm, and she hadn't been in the adjacent corridor for ten seconds before she heard it: the tell-tale sounds that the despised hangover had arrived.

Smothering a smile with her palm, she waited until those awful sounds had abated before even daring to poke her head around the dorm door again. When she did, however, her heart melted with compassion. Carth looked a sight, lying crumpled on his bunk with his upper body hanging halfway off the edge. Lire just shook her head as she padded back into the dorm, settling herself beside him and reaching over to gently massage his back. He whimpered pathetically, and she bit her lip to keep from giggling.

"First hangover?" she asked, certainly playfully but not the list bit tauntingly.

"Nope," came the slightly trembling reply. "You don't serve in the Republic fleet for twenty-two years without having _some_ . . . _celebrations_ . . ."

He buried his head in his hands with a groan, and Lire just kept rubbing his shoulders. Oh, how she pitied him. Had he not been getting depressed, he wouldn't have sought to drown his misery, and had he not been blind, he certainly would've had no reason to be depressed. After a moment, Carth pushed himself up and flopped into another position on his bunk, this time facing the wall. He hid his head in his pillow this time as if trying to will the awful, pounding headache away. Lire reached over and patted his shoulder, giving his arm a squeeze.

"Normally I can hold my liquor better than this," Carth muttered, wincing. "Must've had more than I thought . . ."

"Well, you _were_ in there for about three hours," Lire mused, "and T3 said you'd been through a couple bottles by the time I got there . . . It's a wonder you're even conscious now!"

Carth grimaced and waved his hand as a signal for her to be quiet. Lire nodded in understanding and just held his hand. Part of her wanted to know if he remembered that _incident_ on the plains, but the other part wished him simply to be completely oblivious to what had happened. It would certainly save her embarrassment if he didn't recall it, but if Mission were to laughingly bring it up and he didn't remember . . . Force, that could get awkward. But there were more important things to consider besides how she'd been practically straddling his knees as his kisses reduced her brain to a severe level of incoherency. _That_ was one thing she hoped no one—_especially_ Bastila—_ever_ found out about. She sighed, forcing all those thoughts from her brain as she gently squeezed his hand.

"I know this probably isn't a good time," she said, voice low, "but I've got something to tell you."

"A morality tale about the evils of whiskey?" Carth asked, his head still buried in his pillow and his voice accordingly muffled.

Lire chuckled under her breath as she patted his wrist.

"Actually, no. Actually . . . I had that little chat with the Council."

There was a sigh from Carth, but Lire couldn't really tell what it meant. Was he exasperated, bored, or just hung over?

"They think they can help you," Lire went on, "but they want me to help you, too."

"Sounds like the Jedi . . . Tryin' to push off their duties on some other poor sod . . ."

"That's not why. They . . . they think we may be bonded together."

"_What?!_"


	8. Part Eight: Boom

**Part Eight – Boom**

That revelation, which was in no way small, went over about as well as Lire had anticipated. She'd figured that Carth wouldn't take this lightly; she still recalled the rather explosive argument they'd had when she'd revealed her bond with Bastila. She and he didn't speak to each other for at least two days afterward. In the end, they'd only finally broken the tense silence when Mission locked them in the cargo hold together to force them to apologize. In the back of her mind, Lire could hear herself accusing Carth of being nothing more than a revenge-lusting, bitter old fool and how she'd stormed off, avowing to never again speak to him as long as she lived. Well, people had always told her she was a stubborn mule of a woman . . . Perhaps that was truer than she'd ever realized. But as Carth's brows furrowed and his breathing picked up, Lire realized that she had to tread carefully lest she spark another verbal war with him. Biting her lip, she reached over and firmly gripped his hand.

"Easy, now, Carth," she said cautiously. "You're in no condition to be getting this riled."

"Easy?" he hissed in return. "Easy?! You come in here, telling me we've got one of those Force-damned bonds the Jedi Council is always mumbling about, and you expect me to take it easy?! I can take a helluva lot of things, Lire, but this isn't one of those things!"

"Carth, please," Lire replied, a good deal more firmly. "You're acting like a child—a relatively hung over child!"

"Child?! Look, I've got every right! Force bond, my—"

"Carth!"

He grumbled angrily under his breath, rubbing at his temples and clenching his jaw. Lire thought she heard his back teeth grinding together. She sighed to herself; this certainly was going well. A moment later, Carth leaped to his feet, and anger was evident even in his sightless eyes. Fists clenched, he stormed toward the dorm door, pausing momentarily to turn back in Lire's direction. He sighed, shoulders slouched ever so faintly.

"Look," he said, voice just a bit calmer, "it's not that you're a bad person to be bonded to. You're a nice girl. It's just . . . well, never mind. You wouldn't understand where I'd be coming from, anyway."

With a frustrated sigh, he pounded a fist into the doorway before trudging off. Lire jumped when the blow to the doorway echoed into the dorm, and she sighed. That certainly went well. He hadn't let her explain; then again, she really didn't blame him. That was what she'd wanted to tell him: that she did understand from where he was coming. He was afraid, and he certainly had ever right to be. She knew he probably felt as if his personal privacy had just been invaded, and she certainly didn't like the feeling of being the one doing the invading! She'd worked so hard to gain his trust; would it be shattered now so suddenly by something over which she had no control? She wondered to herself if she shouldn't have told him, but then she wondered if not telling him would've been the same thing as outright lying. Oh, sometimes life was too confusing for its own good! With a muffled groan, Lire buried her head in her hands and just sat there on the edge of Carth's bunk for a long time. Absently, she noticed how she could feel his anger burning like great, leaping flames, yet she dared not venture farther into his mind. She feared that he would be able to sense her presence and garner enough strength to rather violently force her out. So she just sat there, trying to work a way around this mess. Part of her wished that this had never happened.

"Lire?" a young voice asked suddenly and cautiously—Mission's voice. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Mish," Lire replied, sighing as she sat up. "Just not a good day, I guess."

"Oh. You told him about the uh, thing, didn't you?"

How that girl could ever be so perceptive, Lire had no idea. Perhaps she'd merely spent much time practicing the fine art of reading one's body language. Lire saw she couldn't hide anything from Mission anymore, and she sighed again.

"Yeah, I did," she confessed. "You heard him explode?"

"Nah, but I saw him storm up to the cockpit and lock the door," came Mission's answer. "And, well, he was swearin' under his breath the whole way—some pretty nasty things, too."

"How nasty?" Lire wasn't sure she truly wanted to know. Mission sighed and just looked at her, head tilted.

"Let's just say that, even though I grew up on Taris around the swoop gang, I now know a whole bunch of new words. Those Telosian curses are potent, lemme tell ya."

"So I imagine."

"And you'd never believe what he wanted the Council to do . . ."

"Oh, yes, I would."

Mission snickered under her breath as Lire sighed and brushed a hand through her hair. After a minute, she stood and walked over to Mission, clapping a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"You say he's sealed himself in the cockpit?" she asked. Mission nodded.

"Yup. Went off muttering that he didn't want anybody botherin' him. Said if anybody so much as knocked on the door, he'd punch 'em."

Mission frowned, brows furrowed concernedly. Then she looked up at Lire and cocked her head to the side.

"He sure ain't in a good mood today."

"Well, you wouldn't be either if your life seems as if it's going to be one continuous bad day." Lire paused, patting Mission's shoulder. "I'm gonna go see him."

"And risk gettin' hit?!" Mission was incredulous. Lire just smirked at her.

"Mission, Mission, Mission," she sighed. "The difference between him and me right now is that in the time it'd take him to decide where I was, I'd be on the other side of the cockpit. And, well, I can hit just as hard."

Mission giggled as Lire flashed her a smirk and headed off to the cockpit. She took the long route, however, for she stopped by the galley to put together something that would perhaps pacify Carth for a little while. She could still feel his emotional trauma, and she thought she sensed a feeling of deep-rooted violation. Hm.

A few minutes later, Lire left the galley with a plate of hot food that was, in fact, leftovers from the night before. Yet they were the nicest looking leftovers that had perhaps ever been seen by the Ebon Hawk's crew, so Lire took that plate up to the cockpit to brave the troubled waters inside. She knocked cheerfully on the hatch that was indeed sealed. Even Mission might have a little trouble with this one, and most locks were normally no problem whatsoever for her. The only thing that answered Lire was a gruff "Go away." She frowned to herself.

"Would you open up already? I'm just trying to bring you a bite to eat."

"Don't want any."

"You haven't eaten in two days, Carth. You'll pass out!"

"Went longer without eating in the war."

"Well, this isn't 'the war.' This is the Ebon Hawk. And what did you learn about this ship having a democracy?"

"It doesn't."

"Right. It has a Bastilocracy. If you don't open this door, I'll tell her, and then she'll get you stuck in the Jedi medcenter where they will force-feed you until you never want to see another IV drip in your life. How does that sound?"

There was a long moment of silence that seemed almost foreboding. Lire decided right then and there that she absolutely hated that silence; she certainly knew how stubborn Carth could be, but then again, she could be just as stubborn. She just had to remind herself that no matter how hard he pushed, she could push equally hard. As strange as it sounded, perhaps that was why they got along more often than not.

The silence was soon broken, however, by the sounds of leather squeaking and Carth grumbling under his breath. The lock on the cockpit hatch soon broke open with a snap, and the door hissed open. Lire stepped cheerily in as Carth stomped back to his regular seat and flopped into it. Lire carried the plate over to him and set it down on the first flat spot she could find, and she noticed that as she did, Carth straightened a little bit.

"Is that real food?" he asked, and she laughed.

"What did you expect? Protein powder? Nutrient bars?"

"Somethin' bad enough to count as punishment."

Lire frowned to herself as she passed him the eating utensil she'd brought along. She watched as he went after the plate, albeit slightly cautiously at first, and it occurred to her then that he'd been expecting her to punish him for his reaction. Why should she? He'd done nothing wrong; his reaction was almost the same as hers . . . just a little more explosive. She didn't blame him, anyway; finding out that she was bound to him was a little disconcerting, to say the least.

After a minute or two, Carth had dutifully polished off his plate. Apparently he'd been far hungrier than he'd allowed himself to think. But he leaned back in his seat, brows furrowed as he dragged out that bit of chain he'd had earlier. Once more, he began to tug at it, and it seemed as if that steady, rhythmic action calmed him somewhat. Lire watched him in silence for a while; the only accompanying music was the occasional beep from one console or other.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly. Carth sighed.

"You ask that a lot."

"Because you get that look a lot. Whenever you need to talk, your eyebrows crease like so . . ." She traced them for him. "And you start looking thoughtful as well as glancing in my direction."

"Well, I'm not doing too much glancing now, am I?"

Lire winced at the pain so thick in his tone. Force, he was hurting. She could feel his anguish as clearly as if it were her own, as if this burden had been leveled on her shoulders rather than his. Quietly, she eased over beside him and laid a cool hand on his broad shoulder. He heaved a shuddering breath, causing his chest to shake somewhat.

"Why me?" he asked, voice tired and pained. "Why'd this happen to me?"

"Do you mean the blindness or the bond?"

"Either one. Why?"

"I don't know, Flyboy," Lire answered with a sigh as she sat down beside him. He scrunched over a little bit—enough for her to get settled relatively comfortably. "I don't know any of the answers. You're blind because of an accident that might've happened anyway. The bond . . . I think that one's just because we're friends. I checked it out; it's nothing like what Bastila and I have but that I wish we didn't. This one is . . . it's not destiny. It's association, I think, but . . . I can still feel what you feel. And . . . Flyboy . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry this hurts so much. If I could help . . . you know I would."

Silence. Carth just kept tugging at that chain, each little jerk on it causing it to clink in a dull, sad way that mimicked the negative feelings Lire could sense welling inside him. She squeezed his shoulder harder as he kept yanking on the chain, but after a long moment, he sighed and reached back, grabbing her hand and holding it.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I know. It's just . . . You know I don't like feeling helpless, and I do feel helpless like this. Life ain't supposed to be fair any way you look at it, but this really isn't."

"I know, Carth," Lire replied as gently as possible. "And I'm so, so sorry . . . If I could take it on myself . . ."

"Don't even say that."

"But I would. And you know it."

Another long, silent moment.

"Yeah. You're . . . you're a helluva woman."

Lire arched an eyebrow as she studied him a moment. Almost instantly, he seemed to realize what he'd said, and as he rubbed the back of his neck, his face turned nearly purple with . . . embarrassment? Lire partly wished that weren't so but immediately berated herself for that thought.

"Yeah," Carth sighed, "about that . . ."

"What about 'that,' Flyboy?" Lire asked, sounding just a little amused.

Carth sighed, still rubbing the back of his neck. He shifted slightly in his seat as he just stayed silent for a few minutes before lifting one shoulder and letting it fall limp. Lire didn't like his long silence, but he finally cleared his throat somewhat.

"I shouldn't have done that," he sighed, and Lire was surprised to feel her heart sink at his words. "I was drunk, I was stupid, I was wrong, so . . . I'm sorry."

Lire didn't say anything at first, and that was primarily because she didn't know what to say. Part of her wanted to leap into his arms and make him take that apology right back, but the other part wanted to thank him for being a gentleman. She wasn't sure which half she should listen to, so she just sighed. She gazed down at her hands, trying to think of what to say when unexpected words came tumbling from her mouth.

"Why are you apologizing?"

When those words came out, she clamped both hands over her mouth as her eyes widened with shock. What made it worse was that she was certain she'd spoken that sentence with a sultry little voice. Oh, Force . . . Were she not careful, she'd soon be in his arms again. Perhaps in her many lectures, Bastila had said one thing of truth: things like this could be deceptive luxuries—pleasant one moment and bearing consequences the next. Lire sighed to herself, wondering if it'd be so wrong . . . but her attention was captured by the way that Carth interestedly cocked his head.

"You'd rather I didn't?" he asked.

Was that a playful tone he had? Lire didn't know what to say now. She didn't know how to respond. Her face grew hot and red as she backed away from him. She could see a faint grin on his face, and she immediately became more flustered. When his grin widened, she hauled off and whacked the back of his seat.

"Carth Onasi," she sputtered, "you are the most difficult man!"

"Hey," he chuckled, "you're the one who asked why I was apologizing. So maybe I'm the most difficult man to flirt with?"

Lire squeaked under her breath and smacked him across the shoulder. Carth laughed for a moment before he lifted one shoulder and let it drop.

"Point is," he said, "that was inappropriate. Should've had more self-control, no matter how much I'd had to drink. So, you accept my apology?"

"Somehow I feel we've covered this ground before," Lire said, composing herself. The last time he'd said something to that effect was the last time he'd done something worthy of an apology. "But yes, I do. So can we go have a little talk with the Council now?"

"What for?" Carth was immediately defensive, and his grip tightened on his piece of chain.

"To let them try to repair the damage. They can go in and heal, you know. They just need the opportunity."

"Jedi in my brain. Right . . ."

"They'll be gentle," Lire coaxed. "C'mon, please. I don't want to watch you suffer anymore. It hurts me, too."

That did it. For some reason, Carth eased out of his seat with a sigh, hand resting on the wall for a little support. Lire put her hand on his shoulder as he turned in her direction, and she touched his cheek as if that would heal everything: his sight, the wounded fragments of his brain—everything! Then she took his hand and gave it a squeeze, and he actually squeezed back. When she tried to pull her hand away again, however, he seemed almost reluctant to let go.

"Guess we'd better go have that little chat," he sighed resignedly.

He seemed so depressed by that thought that Lire couldn't help herself. Her heart clenched with empathy, and she pitied him so very much that she pushed herself up onto the tips of her toes and ever so gently planted a kiss on his jaw. He went stiff for only a moment before he clutched her hand again, and Lire just let him hold on to her as they headed out of the Hawk and toward the Council chambers.


	9. Part Nine: Helping to Heal

**Part Nine – Helping to Heal**

Had Lire thought that taking Carth down to the Council chambers would be a simple task, she would've been mistaken. Fortunately, she understood his pain and confusion and expected just that. During the whole walk there, he was a nervous wreck. He certainly maintained some degree of outward poise and composure, but the way his hand tightly clutched hers told another tale. Then again, there was the matter of their connection; his anxiety rolled off him in great, almost tidal-like waves, and she could definitely feel it. When she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, he turned his head ever so slightly in her direction and offered a wan smile. Lire felt her heart clench in sympathy, and she reached over to take his arm. As it was, despite his nervousness, the way he held her hand appeared to be merely out of camaraderie and less as if Lire were leading him along; now Lire's hand on his arm evidenced concern.

"It's okay," she said. "Relax. They're just gonna take a look."

"That's the part that bothers me."

"I think you can trust the Council not to pry into anything personal, Carth. Sure, it'd be hilarious if it turned out that the Jedi Council was comprised of gossip lovers, but I'm pretty sure that's not the case."

"Ha, ha," Carth muttered. "I can see the headlines now: 'Jedi Council revealed to be little more than gossiping old biddies.'"

Lire had to admit that that quip tickled her sense of humor, and she held back a bark of laughter so long that it came out as a muffled snort. Carth chuckled under his breath, and after a moment, Lire lightly whacked him across the arm.

"You'd better not _ever_ say that in front of them. Actually, I don't care _what_ you say in front of Vrook and even Bastila, but I rather like the rest. For the record, though, that _was_ a good one."

Carth grinned at her only a moment, but that charming smile was gone as quickly as it appeared as they neared the Council chambers. A small, brightly-colored bird was twittering in the tree at the center of the Enclave's upper level, and when it sang a particularly loud, cheerful note, Carth's head immediately whipped in that direction. He paused as if to listen, and Lire lingered beside him a moment.

"I bet it's a nice day out," he said, tone almost longing. "Blue sky?"

"Not a cloud in it," Lire replied with a nod.

"Sunshine?"

"Enough to give a sunbather a nice tan."

"Hm. What else?"

Lire noted the semblance of wistfulness in his voice, and she understood what he was doing. He was trying to create an image in his mind of the day so he could have something beautiful to remember should this blindness never be remedied. She decided to take a moment to share the world with him; after all, this was his way of saying "Show me," and she didn't want to deny him that. So she took his hand and led him to a nearby bench under the shadow of an eave, surrounded by fragrant flowers.

"The bleeding hearts are blooming," she said, taking his hand and brushing it against that plant. "The flowers are so gorgeous; they're pink and red, and because they're in the shade and the sun hasn't gotten to them yet, there's a little dew left on them. The grass is dark green and soft; it's like walking on carpet."

"Someday you're going to have to let me off my boots and try that," Carth murmured. Lire smiled and touched his fingertips to her face to show him that.

"What's wrong with now?" she asked, slipping off the thick-soled boots she wore beneath her robes and wiggling her toes down into the cool grass.

Carth paused in momentary thought before reaching down and wrenching off his boots, slinging them to the side of the bench. The next thing Lire knew, his feet had vanished completely into the soft green fibers of nature's rug.

"That ain't so bad," he said with a little smile. "All right, what else?"

"Well . . ."

Lire took a minute to look around and study her surroundings. She'd never really taken the time to observe the Enclave in grand detail; serving as Carth's eyes, however, now taught her a greater appreciation for the world around her. Her deep blue eyes drank in every vista, every detail of the day, and she was so very grateful for the gift of sight. And not only did she observe everything; she took time to listen, too. By the time a few moments had passed, she was ready to describe the Enclave.

"Some new Knights are meditating about ten feet away," she said. "They're trying not to be proud of themselves, but it's not working. If you listen, you can hear the fountains bubbling outside in the courtyard. Judging by the giggling, I'll bet some Padawans dumped a load of soap into one of them again. Master Vrook's going to get after them any minute now; yep, there he goes." She giggled as she watched the grumpy Master stride past, and Carth chuckled as he envisioned the scene. Lire took another look around and went back to her description. "There are birds all in the central tree; it almost sounds as if they're singing courtship songs, so I guess that's why they're so beautiful today. The loud one you hear is bright, bright red with some yellow; it looks about like a Republic uniform, actually!"

Carth scrunched up his nose in disapproval; he certainly remembered the days of wearing those uniforms, and he didn't like them any more now than he did then. As Lire paused again to take another look around, he ran his hand across a nearby bush, fingers brushing against a flower whose brilliant red petals felt like fine velvet. He could tell by its texture and fragrance that it was a rose; once he'd learned that the Jedi at the Enclave often planted flowers in memory of other Jedi—those slain in combat—so that the Force that the Jedi in question once wielded could now be used for maintaining life. At first it'd seemed to him like a somewhat ludicrous practice if not a little overly sentimental (for the Jedi, anyway), but now he understood. He continued to run his hands across the rosebush, barely flinching when one of the thorns dug into his battle-calloused palm and a droplet of his blood splattered onto a glossy green leaf. He just gently fingered one bloom in particular; this one felt like a tight, new bud that was just opening.

"Hey, Lire?" he said, and Lire turned in his direction. "What color is it?"

"Red," she replied. "As red as a sunset on the plains. Do you want it cut?"

"What the hell. Cockpit could stand a little sprucing up anyway."

Lire grinned as she eased over, slipping a small knife from a sheath bound tightly against the side of her lower leg. She always kept that blade there since she never knew when she would be otherwise unarmed. That was a holdover from her scouting days; she knew always to be prepared for whatever might come her way. So she scooted over closer to Carth, leaning over him and reaching for the one bloom he seemed to favor above all the others. Then, with one quick motion, she severed the rose from the rest of the bush, leaving the one perfect blossom in her hand. She gently pressed it into Carth's open palm, careful not to stab him with the thorns. He turned the rose over in his hands for a moment or two, touching its petals and leaves and inhaling its sweet scent. Then he handed it to Lire.

"Might as well get those thorns off," he said. "This is gonna sound stupid, but . . . well, would you wear it until we get back to the ship? It'd look better on you than on me, anyway."

"Nonsense," Lire replied, taking the rose from him and gingerly breaking off the thorns as he'd requested. "Haven't you ever seen men with flowers in their lapels?"

"Well," Carth answered, "I'm fresh outta lapels. And I'd look like an idiot if I had a flower in my hair."

Lire laughed as she consented and tucked the rose behind her hair.

"There," she said, taking Carth's hand and letting him feel where she'd placed it. "How's that suit you?"

"Fine," he responded. "I bet you look great."

"Well, my hair's a mess and my robes need a washing, but thanks just the same!"

She laughed as she turned to look around the Enclave once more. Standing in the passageway to the Council chambers was Master Vandar, beckoning her to come on inside. Lire sighed and reached over to tap Carth's hand, and that quick little touch caused his back to go immediately straight.

"What's up?" he asked, sounding as if he'd jump up and fight to the death the moment she gave the word. Couldn't take the army out of the soldier, Lire mused.

"We're heading in," she answered. "Time to go see what the Council can do."

"I'd rather impale myself," came the now-somewhat grumpy reply. Lire arched an eyebrow.

"You can't mean that."

"Of course not. I like myself a _little_ more than that. But this is like pulling rancor fangs."

"I know," Lire answered with a sigh as she watched Vrook, irritable as ever, march past and toward Vandar. "Were I in your place, I'd rather impale myself, too."

"That's encouraging," Carth remarked with a scoff. "So now there's a new cause of death in this galaxy: death by Jedi Council."

"Oh, hush!" Lire answered, trying to fight back a laugh. "I swear, you are too much."

Carth shrugged a bit, almost in a "Don't I know it" fashion, as he rose from the bench, listening closely to the sounds of his surroundings to try to determine his exact location. After a moment, he strode off in the precise direction of the Council chambers, and Lire had to jog after him to keep up. She didn't ask how he knew where he was going; she, too, could hear Vrook grumbling about some happening or other—probably the Padawans who'd put soap in the fountains. And off the two went to see the Council, both barefoot; Lire had not forgotten about their boots but didn't seem to care. Instead, she just headed after Carth, and after a minute they arrived at their destination.

"What those Padawans need is _discipline_," Vrook was saying, brows furrowed as they seemingly permanently were. "Soap flakes in the fountains . . . How juvenile!"

"They _are_ still children, Master Vrook," Vandar replied gently, his gaze flicking to Lire and Carth for a moment. "This is easily forgivable. But we will speak of this later, if need be. Now we must deal with a more pressing matter."

He turned slowly, shuffling closer to the center of the chambers and waving Lire forward with a three-fingered hand. Lire gave him a respectful nod; if there was one Jedi Master for whom she could claim a fondness, Vandar was that Master.

"Padawan Dakaar, Captain Onasi, come in," he said, motioning them over. "We have been expecting you."

Carth didn't say anything; he just followed Lire forward when he heard her feet on the chamber floor. When her motion stopped, so did his; Lire could tell that even though the Council were silent, they were impressed by his sharp hearing. She could also tell that Vrook was positively itching with the questions of why they were both barefoot and why she was wearing a flower in her hair. Lire decided not to answer either of those before they were even asked; she decided just to let the seemingly cantankerous Master steam for a while. It provided her with a rather pleasant sensation of getting a one-up on him—a feeling that Bastila would certainly condemn as being of the Dark Side, were she given the opportunity.

"Please, be seated," Vandar said as the three other Masters settled themselves down; he himself had no need to sit as his stature did not require it. Lire followed suit, as did Carth, though much more hesitantly. "Now, Captain, has the Padawan explained this . . . connection to you?"

"She tried," Carth answered rather frankly.

Lire tried to send the Council the sensation that it had _not_ been a good day, and three out of four nodded understandingly; Vrook just harrumphed but said nothing. Dorak shifted momentarily before clearing his throat.

"Normally, bonds are simple connections formed by close association, such as the bond between a Master and his Padawan," he explained. "Others can be more complex, but this is not one of those—not exactly. Its explanation would be relatively simple: you have simply been acquainted with Lire for several months now. But what makes this strange is that you have unwittingly transmitted your pain to her."

Dorak went on to describe Lire's episode from earlier and how that had been caused by this connection. The whole time, Lire kept a close eye on Carth and watched as he gradually paled and grew slightly more fidgety. She dared not reach over and touch him, however; she knew how the Jedi frowned upon attachments, no matter how foolish she considered that rule to be. She simply listened patiently as the Masters explained the situation to Carth, ultimately taking the longest route conceivable to get to the subject of healing his internal wounds.

"To heal on such a scale _is_ possible," Zhar said calmly. "It requires great concentration, however, but is indeed feasible. Now, this may come as a shock to you, but you seem to possess a greater concentration of the Force than the average human, Captain."

Lire's stomach flipped over; she'd felt as if that were possible, but she'd never thought it would be so. When all remaining color drained from Carth's face, she immediately reached over and gripped his hand, ignoring every last one of the Council's anti-relationship rules. Right now her compatriot was in a delicate place; one wrong move could send him into a permanent breakdown.

"So . . ." Carth asked slowly, his voice almost, _almost_ quivering but somehow staying steady, "that means I could be a . . . Jedi?"

"No," Zhar replied softly. "Your Force presence isn't strong enough to allow for training, I'm afraid, but it _does_ seem to grant you certain intuitive skills."

"Told you that you weren't just paranoid," Lire whispered, and for a split second, a smile flashed across Carth's face. But then he turned his sightless gaze to the Council.

"So where are you going with this?" he questioned. Lire could tell that he did _not_ want to be there; the way his hand was in his jacket pocket, tightening and loosening around that bit of chain, all too clearly evidenced this. "What destiny garbage are you gonna spew out now?"

Lire murmured his name with a chiding tone as the Council shifted a little uncomfortably. It was one thing for him to mention those negative views to her or one of the others; to mention them to the Council's face was brash—but Lire rather liked knowing that she had someone at her back who would speak his mind. Vrook grumbled something rather uncomplimentary under his breath as he folded his arms, and Lire silently wished that Mission were there. That girl would've flipped Vrook off so fast that the Masters might've had gigantic heart attacks. Vandar reached over and gently touched the back of Carth's hands.

"Padawan Dakaar will go in first," he said, "to ready your mind. As she is the one to whom you are bonded, this should be painless. Then we will enter and attempt to heal the damage."

"Will his sight be restored?" Lire asked, inching closer to Carth and adjusting the rose in her hair so it didn't fall out.

"Perhaps," Vrook grumped, "but there is, of course, no way to be sure it is not _permanent_."

There was something particularly venomous in the way he'd said that; it had obviously hit a nerve because Carth's back went instantly straight and both his fists clenched. Lire allowed herself to break from the picture of an obsequious Jedi Padawan that the Council so liked to see as she shot Vrook the nastiest glare she could manage.

"Master Vrook," she said firmly, voice low but barbed, "I would appreciate it if you did _not_ speak to him in such a matter from now on. Were _you_ in his situation, _you_ would _not_ appreciate it if a cantankerous old grump of a Jedi Master informed _you_ that you may never see again! So with all due respect, _Master_, you ought to consider apologizing."

"I will do no such thing!" Vrook bellowed, but Vandar nudged him.

"Be silent, Master Vrook," he warned. "The Padawan is indeed correct. We are here to help him and not to fling insults. That is not the Jedi way."

Vrook's scowl deepened; nonetheless, he nodded once, briskly, in Carth's direction.

"Pardon my behavior."

Carth shifted on the chamber floor, seemingly preparing himself to leap up and run away as fast as he could and as soon as he could. Lire just sighed; that Vrook had not liked her from the moment the _Ebon Hawk_ had first landed on Dantooine, and she still couldn't figure out why. She hadn't done anything wrong . . . Perhaps it was simply decided, whether by the Force or by simple fate, that Vrook should never be friendly toward her.

There was a moment of awkward silence in the Council chambers. Lire could clearly feel Carth's mounting tension, and that, in turn, caused her to grow anxious. After a moment, Dorak cleared his throat ever so faintly, preparing to pick up where Vandar had left off.

"Captain Onasi," he said gently, "if you would please attempt to relax, we can get started on helping you. Don't expect an instant miracle, though; even healing through the Force takes time, especially when we are dealing with something as delicate as the human brain. Are you willing?"

"Might as well," Carth replied somberly, voice somewhat quiet. "Lire seems to think you can do something."

Lire heard the unvoiced "But I ain't expecting much" in his tone, and her heart clenched. She slid closer to him, drawing her knees under herself and reaching for his hands. She looked at Vandar, waiting for the signal to begin. Vandar nodded once, solemnly, and Lire gazed at Carth, giving his hands a squeeze.

"Focus on my voice," she said, and Carth nodded ever so faintly. "Just relax. Think of something that calms you. I'll be gentle; I swear it."

She could tell that he still wasn't sure about all this, but she had worked tirelessly to earn his trust, and now she felt that she had. She felt that he would be willing to allow her inside, and she gripped his hands as hard as she dared before focusing her energy inward. As she had earlier, she meandered through her own mind, searching for the link she'd found. When she found that bridge, she gently crossed it into Carth's consciousness; she knew he'd felt her there because his hands shook momentarily. She whispered a gentle reassurance right to his mind because she felt the Council members entering slowly behind her. She had, after all, agreed to pave the way. Onward she continued, trying to calm Carth as she went. He was trying to stay calm, trying to concentrate, but Lire could only imagine what this was like for him. No doubt that it was as if the very heart of who he was had been invaded; in a sense, that was indeed what they were doing. Lire felt a stab of guilt for that, so she tried to send calming waves through him. It didn't work; not at first, at least. He did seem to relax a little more, but she saw the reason when she looked around inside his mind. He was thinking of home, of Telos, of the white sand beaches and the crystal clear waves. He was thinking of the lush, green grass, sparkling with dew in the early morning sunlight . . . Lire saw small blank spots there, though—blank spots that hid memories of the native flowers and birds and their names . . . As the Council spread out to heal his mind, Lire concentrated on that one spot and on restoring the thoughts of his home. For someone who had lost so much, remembering the names of flowers would be a small but welcome gift.

That task drained Lire's strength far faster than she'd thought it would have. Still she kept at it, though; she didn't want to give up when she was making such great progress. Nonetheless, she was growing steadily more exhausted, and after a moment, Zhar's voice drifted through her mind: _Padawan. Rest yourself. It would not do you any good to lose yourself inside him. You may never return to yourself should that happen._

Lire jumped slightly as she paused and studied her work. She had indeed made progress; where once there were fragmented memories were now whole ones. Perhaps she _could_ stand to rest a while . . . So she carefully backed away until she had returned to the present, and she blinked her eyes open, glancing around the Council chambers. It was silent as space there, but she could tell that the Masters were still hard at work with their healing. Carth was stone still but pale; was this draining him as much as it had her? That hardly seemed plausible, but then each Master opened his eyes. Carth slumped sideways, but Lire quickly caught and steadied him, allowing his head to lean against her shoulder. She glared almost accusatively at the Council, but three out of four just looked sympathetic.

"He is all right," Vandar assured her. "We decided to let him sleep for a time to recover his strength."

"Did you heal him?" Lire asked.

"As much as possible," Dorak replied, sounding slightly out of breath. "There is a little left undone; it may take one or two more sessions like this to completely heal it all."

"Will he see again?"

The Masters exchanged a look—rather, the three who seemed to care exchanged a glance. Vrook just harrumphed and folded his arms.

"He may," Zhar replied, "in time. We could not reach that part of him . . . It was as if he had been intentionally guarding his sight against us."

"Why would he do that?" Lire questioned as shock knocked the breath out of her. "I thought he _wanted_ to see again!"

Her hold on Carth grew only more protective, and the Masters just looked sympathetic. Even Vrook's stern countenance appeared to soften momentarily. Granted, they all warned constantly against the "dangers" of attachments, but Lire was struggling to maintain the appearance of being merely a concerned friend lest the Council think there was something more. Perhaps there was; she had no real way of knowing. As far as she could remember, there had only ever been one man in her life that she had completely adored. Of course, he had been nothing like Carth . . . but still.

"I received the impression that he wished to understand what the galaxy was like without seeing it," Vandar said quietly.

"He . . . what?" Lire blinked in surprise. "That makes no sense!"

"Perhaps it will," Vrook interjected. "As he is struggling to understand, so should you understand him."

Lire wanted to scream that she _did_ understand him and that she understood him far better than the Council ever could have. She bit her lip to keep from exploding in an angry fit, and just at that moment, Carth stirred in her arms. His eyes blinked open, and the question that flew out of Lire's mouth came so suddenly and thoughtlessly that she berated herself over it.

"Can you see?"

The answer was equally abrupt but far more sullen.

"No."

Lire's heart sank even though she'd been expecting that response. Although the Council had warned them not to expect instantaneous miracles, she had allowed herself to hope. Carth's broad shoulders slumped ever so faintly, but Vandar padded over to him and touched his hand.

"Have no fear," he said. "We were able to make great progress at healing your mind. We have asked Lire to bring you back tomorrow so we may work again."

Carth didn't say anything; he just pushed himself up. His stance was slightly wobbly but soon grew more rigid, and Lire rose from the floor as well, nodding respectfully at the Masters.

"Thank you," she said. "We will return tomorrow."

She reached out and touched Carth's arm as a signal that they could leave the Council chambers. He didn't need to be asked twice; as it were, he seemed to wish to be halfway to the door. But he left with Lire, still not saying anything, and he held his silence until they left the Council. Once they were outside, he slammed his curled fist into the wall, causing Lire to jump.

"They didn't do anything," he growled. "Didn't do one damn thing."

"They fixed some of the damage, Carth," Lire answered gently, putting a hand on his shoulder and biting her lip when he shrugged it off.

"Didn't make me see again, though."

"They . . ." Lire paused as she found herself rather unable to explain. She sighed. "They said that you didn't _want_ to be healed."

"Not want—! They're insane. Why wouldn't I want to see again? It's dark in here, Lire! It's like—"

"Like there's no one else in the galaxy but you; I know."

"Do you? Do you _really_? I _hate_ this!"

Lire flinched faintly when he slammed his fist into the wall again, but she grimaced when he pulled his hand away and she saw that he'd accidentally hit a jagged stone in the wall. A splotch of red now stood out in harsh contrast against the plain gray façade, and Carth hissed in an angry, pained breath as he shook out his hand and cradled it momentarily against his chest. Lire took his hand and pressed it between hers, focusing some of her power on it. The gash sealed rather quickly as the bleeding stopped, but Lire didn't let go.

"I know you hate it," she said. "They tried, Flyboy; they tried. They had to get through the rest of the damage first, I think, and they haven't gotten through it all just yet. But they healed parts that were fragmented before; I know because I saw them do it! Just . . . hold on. Hold on a little longer, please. You're afraid, but that's all right because I am, too."

Carth was again quiet. Lire had learned that he often did this: he often had explosive moments before going absolutely silent for extended periods. She turned his hand over and inspected his palm, touching her first two fingers to it and healing the prick from the rosebush's thorns. Then she took the rose from her hair and pressed it into his hand; his fingers curled gingerly around it.

"Want to go for a walk?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Rather not. Besides . . . this thing needs water."

He turned and started off toward the _Ebon Hawk_, and this time, Lire didn't go with him. She watched as he ran his hands along the Enclave's walls and muttered directions under his breath. He stumbled only once but never fell and was never off-balance for long. Lire watched him go until she could no longer see him, but she was certain he had made it back to the ship without any problems. She wasn't ready to return the ship herself, however, and the plains seemed to beckon her. So she turned toward them and stepped outside the Enclave, entering the courtyard but walking beyond it.

There was not a kath hound for a mile in any direction, and the plains were completely desolate and quiet—more so than usual. Lire found that mildly suspicious but didn't take it to heart; after all, many a place was quiet that time of day. She kept walking, letting the warm breeze tug playfully at her hair and allowing the sun to warm her face and cloak her in its golden rays. But that tranquil moment ended rather abruptly when something crunched in the tall grass not too far away. Lire came to a standstill, dark blue eyes scanning her surroundings. There was nothing she could see, but she could not shake the sudden feeling of doom that hung over her.

"Carth?" she called. "Flyboy, that you?"

No response. The crackling was a little louder, and her hand flew to her hip and her lightsaber. Whatever was out there was too stealthy to be a kath hound; in her experience, hungry hounds tended to lunge for their prey's throat, not stalk like a gurrcat. Even her Jedi training did not dull her human emotions of fear and anxiety, both of which were quite strong now. She swallowed hard as whatever was out there seemed to draw nearer, and her hand clenched around the silvery hilt of her lightsaber. Maybe it was Mission trying to play a joke on her. Or maybe it wasn't.

"Carth?" she called one last time even though she was almost certain that it was not he who was out there. "Flyboy?"

This time, only a low, dark chuckle answered her.


	10. Part Ten: Attack

**A/N:** Apologies for the long wait. I wrote this a week or two ago but forgot to put it up. Working on pt. 11 now.

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**Part Ten – Attack**

A cold chill raced down Lire's spine as she backed up a few feet, finding herself only inches from a thick rock wall. She knew it probably wasn't a good idea to have her back against the wall, but whoever was out there was getting closer and she had no real opportunity to run. So she thumbed the switch on her lightsaber, and the brilliant sapphire blade shot out of the emitter with a menacing hum. There was a second malicious chuckle before a dark-cloaked figure slipped from the shadows. Lire could tell there was a man beneath that cloak, but she couldn't be sure of his exact appearance because a large hood shaded his face.

"At last, we meet," he said, voice low. "Stay your weapon, my dear; someone could get hurt."

"That someone will be _you_ if you try anything stupid," Lire answered with a growl. "Who are you?"

At this, the man smirked coldly as he shoved his hood back, and Lire was thoroughly expecting a hideous, disfigured face. That, however, was not what she saw. Instead, the man was relatively young—mid-thirties, at least—with a head of thick dark hair and squinty eyes that were as black as midnight. Lire thought she caught a glimpse of a long, gleaming vibroblade tucked beneath his cloak, and she adjusted her lightsaber and her stance until she was in her favorite defensive posture. She shifted her weight as she studied the man before her, whose unnerving little smile never wavered.

"I am darkness," he said. "I am shadow. I have followed you, yet you have never seen me. I _am_ the hunt."

"Hunt?" Lire's mind flashed back to that cold night on Kashyyyk when she, Carth, and Canderous had run right into Calo Nord. Nord didn't escape the confrontation, but that hadn't stopped it from being a difficult battle. "So you're a bounty hunter? Oh, just my luck. First my week was hell and now I'm trailed by a bounty hunter. Joy."

The unknown man's almost predatory grin widened, and Lire accordingly tightened her grip on her lightsaber. He took a couple steps nearer to her, causing her to giver her 'saber one warning brandish. He chuckled.

"No, not a bounty hunter. A shadow."

Lire lifted an eyebrow. If he wasn't a bounty hunter, then what _was_ he? She started studying him, looking for some indication of his allegiance. The cloak was a bit suspicious, as was the vibroblade; after all, most humans didn't normally carry vibros on their hips as if the weapons were extensions of their bodies. Also, Lire couldn't remember the last time she'd seen someone wear a cloak that long and black. Then she got a glimpse of the clothing beneath the cloak: gray uniform. Her blood ran cold; she'd seen uniforms like that one a hundred times on Korriban. The tattoo on the man's hand only confirmed what she feared: that he was a Sith. Instantly, her mind went into overdrive. She knew not to underestimate him, and she certainly knew that backup probably wouldn't have been a bad idea at the time. She wasn't all that far from the Academy, but she knew that she was too far to run for help or give a yell; she'd handled plenty of Sith in her time, though. She tilted her head at him, still gripping her idly thrumming lightsaber.

"All right, Sith," she said. "Who _are_ you?"

"You seek my name? Very well. I am called Trandor Vinn. I have come by my Master's bidding since he underestimated your skills—at first. By slaughtering every bounty hunter, every pathetic apprentice sent to crush you, you attracted my attention."

"So you're another of his minions—like Bandon," Lire replied coldly. "Well, I can't say I'm impressed with you, either . . . So, let me guess: you're here to kill me because I helped Bastila get off Taris and Malak isn't happy with that."

"You are perceptive," Vinn replied with a nod. "I know not to underestimate your powers; I am not as foolish as those idiots my Master sees fit to send against you. But yet you are alone here; there is no one who can come to your aid, and the last they will see of you will be your mangled corpse as it is ripped apart by ravenous kath hounds."

"Ick," Lire said, grimacing. "Guess I'd better do everything I can so I don't end up in that sorry state."

"Then I welcome your challenge!"

The pair began circling one another, and Lire kept a close eye on Vinn the entire time. She was watching for any tricks he could send her way, and so she noticed every little move he made. She noticed when he reached inside his cloak and drew his vibroblade from its sheath in one slow, smooth motion. The cold silver blade flashed in the sunlight, and Vinn's cold smirk never faded. The tension in the Dantooine air thickened with every passing moment, and with each circle, Lire and Vinn gradually moved closer to each other and, ultimately, closer to combat.

Suddenly, Vinn lifted one hand, and out shot blinding bolts of Force lightning. Those bolts would've struck Lire in the dead center of her chest, but adrenaline had heightened her senses to a point where she could almost foretell his every move. As a result, she reflexively lifted her lightsaber and flicked the lightning right back at Vinn. He almost didn't dodge that but managed to leap aside before it was too late. The next moment, he lunged at Lire, vibroblade glinting, and Lire waited until he was too close for comfort before parrying his attack and thrusting him back. The blade of her lightsaber bounced off the blade of his vibro with an angry snarl, and back they went like fighters to their corners. Once more they circled, each sizing up the other. Lire knew he was in no way about to take her for stupid, and she knew that she should not underestimate his skills, either. He was watching her, waiting for her to make one foolish move that would score a victory for him, but she was waiting for him to lose energy.

The pair lunged at each other again, blades meeting and locking. Lire's lightsaber hissed and popped while Vinn's vibroblade just flashed in the sun, reflecting bright rays into Lire's eyes every few minutes. The lock was held for several minutes while the two stared one another down; Lire had a gut feeling that things were about to go from bad to worse, as well. This one was a far greater challenge for her than any other of Malak's underlings. This one had extensive training as well as a few Force powers and who knew what other weapons concealed beneath that cloak. Lire wondered if a hidden arsenal was the reason he hadn't shrugged off his cloak at the dawn of the battle.

"You cannot win this, Lire Dakaar," Vinn hissed. "I know who you are. I know _what_ you are."

"Then you'll know I'm not about to just let you kick my backside from here to Tatooine!"

With that, Lire broke the lock, spinning away and flicking her 'saber over her shoulder to shield her back. It would do no good for her to execute that flawless motion and yet leave her spine open and vulnerable to one quick slice from Vinn's blade. She felt the vibroblade knock against her lightsaber and heard Vinn grumble, and she was so grateful she'd remembered to cover her own back.

Hurriedly, she opened her connection to Carth and tried to send him the sensation that she wasn't having a good day and needed backup as fast as possible. She wasn't sure if he'd receive that little thought blip and understand, but she had experienced stranger things in her lifetime. She had just barely gotten the "send help" part of her thought out when Vinn almost appeared out of nowhere again, hacking at her with well-aimed, well-timed downward slashes. Lire wheeled around, blocking as best she could, but his use of surprise had momentarily gained him the upper hand. Lire backpedaled, forcing herself into a rhythm so she could keep up with this Sith and perhaps win back her advantage. Force, what she would've given for an extra lightsaber . . . Dual-wielding would've been ever so helpful in this situation.

She eventually managed to recover enough that she wasn't off-balance and overwhelmed, and she and Vinn traded blows with their blades once more, each expertly parrying or blocking the other. At one point, Vinn seemed to slow and stumble, but Lire didn't recognize the fact that it was a feint. She ducked under his vibroblade to come around and run him through, but when she turned, there he was, ready and waiting. He just grinned rapaciously at her before he thrust his blade up and forward. Lire gasped as the blade effortlessly punctured her flesh, stabbing into her side at an unbelievably painful angle. Blood gushed from her side in an instant, and Vinn gave the blade one merciless twist before wrenching it free. Lire started to fall, but he caught her by the collar and gave her a hard shove away from him. She went down, smacking hard against a large, nearby boulder and bruising her ribs; she even thought she heard one crack, and the sharp burst of pain that followed the hit confirmed that. Her face contorted in agony as she reached over to press a hand to her badly bleeding side; her lightsaber had long since tumbled from her hand. As she lay there, defeated, wounded, and panting for breath, she berated herself over and over for misjudging him. Still Vinn's smirk never faded; instead, he reached down to collect her fallen lightsaber and clean his vibroblade on his cloak.

"A pity," he said with a falsely mournful sigh. "I'd've thought you'd provide a better challenge than that."

"Yeah, well," Lire wheezed, "I haven't had a very good day."

"Oh, that's evident. But my mission here is nearly accomplished. I merely have to strike you down with one last blow—" Here he walked over and touched the tip of his blade to her breastbone. "—and I shall be completed."

"You sick, sick son of a—"

"Now, now," Vinn chided, crouching down beside her and still wearing that insufferable grin. "Must we resort to vulgarities?"

"Y'know," Lire forced out, still wheezing and now clenching her eyes shut. "If I felt better, I'd rip your head off."

"You _tried_, my dear. You _tried_. You also _failed_. You, like the rest of your pathetic Order, failed to withstand _me_. And once you are gone, I shall have no difficulties whatsoever in securing the Shan girl for my Master. Killing you, however, will win me great notoriety in his eyes should your amusing little 'friends' manage to withhold my Master's prize from me."

"And they would, too," Lire replied, sliding down the rock and feeling as if she'd left a trail of blood behind. She hissed in a pained breath from both the gash in her side and her cracked ribs. "I've got . . . a Mandalorian . . . and two other Jedi . . . and the best damn Republic pilot in the 'verse."

"Your attempt at courage is admirable, 'Lire,' but hardly convincing." He pressed his blade tighter against her chest, making her wince in slight pain as he nicked her skin. "You will die, Lire Dakaar, but it won't come quickly and painlessly. There is a reason my Master sent me for you. He knows I do my work _well_. You _will_ suffer by my hand, you foolish Jedi, and before you die, you will scream for mercy. I swear that to you: that you _will_ beg for death before it comes."

"What're you proposing?" Lire asked with a cough, feeling her strength draining. "Rape? Torture? One or the other or all of the above?"

"Oh, you try so hard," Vinn tsked. "_Too_ hard. Should time permit it, you will, as you put it, have all of the above."

Lire hadn't felt much fear before then, but now her heart started pounding so hard that it echoed in her ears. She opened her mouth to try to scream for help, but Vinn's hand clenched around her throat, making her gasp. Now he had a sadistic, evil gleam in his eyes as he kept the point of his blade fitted against her chest. It was at such an angle that one hard thrust could drive it through her heart. Vinn leaned in closer—so close, in fact, that Lire tried to flinch away but found she had nowhere to go.

"And now, Lire Dakaar, you will die."

"Not if I have a say."

Lire's head shot up at the familiar voice, and Vinn barely reacted before his breath was suddenly cut off by one length of chain wrapped tightly around his throat, digging into his skin. His grasp loosened on Lire's neck, allowing her to inhale a sharp and raspy yet welcome breath. The chain tightened, causing Vinn to gasp and sputter for even one breath, and his arms flailed wildly about as he choked. He was nearly to the point of unconsciousness when he managed to gather his strength enough to drive his elbow backwards. There was a grunt, but the chain loosened, and that split second was all that Vinn needed: he was gone in an instant, vanished into the shadows—vanished as the shadow he claimed to be. Yet as Lire sagged weakly sideways, she had the startling feeling that that wouldn't be the last she'd hear of him.

The next thing she knew, Carth was crouched at her side, holding her steady in his strong arms while he pressed a hand to her badly bleeding side. She was content just to rest there in his grasp; after all, he had saved her life. She was breathing heavily and wishing for kolto, but she looked up at Carth with grateful eyes even though she knew he wouldn't be able to see them.

"He got you good," Carth murmured, adjusting his hold on her long enough to tug off his jacket and press it against her side. It didn't matter that it was fine bantha leather; it was more important to stop the bleeding than it would be to have to spend hours scrubbing out stains. "Who the hell was he?"

"One of Malak's goons," Lire sighed, hissing in a pained breath when Carth pressed against one of her broken ribs. "Force, that hurt . . ."

"Sorry. At least you're still kickin' and I got here before he could do anything worse."

"What made you come?" Lire asked, grimacing again as she wondered if he'd heard her.

"Had a moment where it seemed like you were asking for help," came the reply, confirming Lire's curiosity. "I would've brought backup, but Canderous was taking a leak and Mission was blowing out her eardrums with glimmik. So you got stuck with me."

"Glad of it," Lire replied, trying to laugh but coughing instead. "Help me up."

She struggled to her feet but immediately lost her balance from blood loss. Carth's hands were securely around her waist, however, preventing her from falling and holding her steady. She leaned into his arms, feeling nearly ready to fall unconscious right there.

"Just . . . get me back to the ship," she sighed. "I'll be fine."

"The hell you will. You're bleeding buckets and about to pass out standing up. C'mon, now."

A moment later, Carth had hefted Lire into his arms so that she could hold onto his shoulders and never have to walk. His jacket was still pressed firmly against her side; he was in only his trousers and undershirt now but didn't seem to care. Lire protested being picked completely up, claiming she'd only wanted a little support.

"And not to offend you," she finished, "but you're _blind_."

"But not paralyzed," Carth reminded her. "I can still walk, and you're light, easy to carry, and sighted, so you can give directions. Besides, I got out here without help, so you just relax; you'll be in Jolee's hands before you know it."

Lire wasn't sure how literally to take his command to relax, but she was so exhausted that she didn't really care. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her tired head against his shoulder as he started walking, and the next thing she knew, she was out cold but very secure in his arms.


	11. Part Eleven: Tripped

**A/N:** Yeeeeeeeeeah... I'm _really_ sorry about the length of time between updates. This chapter took me FOREVER to write. But guess what! There will be a part twelve for sure because I certainly don't want to leave y'all hanging. Hope you enjoy this despite the length of time it took to be put here. PS: The chapter title has nothing to do with drugs. XD

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**Part Eleven - Tripped**

Lire was conscious long before she finally cracked her eyes open again. She felt herself being lowered onto something; the low beeping in the background and the grumble she thought she heard made her wonder if she were in the _Ebon Hawk_'s medbay. She still ached all over; her side was warm and sticky with blood, and her broken rib still throbbed menacingly. Then she heard it.

"Oh, Force, what happened?! Is she okay?! Look at all that _blood_! She's gonna be okay, right? _Right?!_"

The very first thing that Lire saw when she came around and forced her eyes open was an enormous splotch of blue not two inches from her face. Then her eyes focused on that splotch, and she found that Mission was leaning over her, brows creased concernedly and eyes widened worriedly. Were it not for the extreme closeness of the girl, Lire would've been grateful for her friend's presence. When Mission saw that Lire was conscious, she leaped onto her and hugged her just as hard as she possibly could. Lire hissed in a breath as Mission accidentally pressed against that broken rib, and Mission hurriedly backed away, looking apologetic.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she babbled. "It's just that, well, you're awake! Because, I mean, when Carth brought you in, you were really bad off!"

"Still am," Lire croaked out, trying to move a bit but failing miserably. Everything hurt too severely. "Where's Jolee?"

"Here, lass," the old man said gently, coming to her side, armed with kolto, anticoagulants, bandages, and the like. He took up something of a sentry post at the bedside. "Now, relax yourself. Just gotta get this patched up . . ."

"Be gentle, huh?" Mission pressed, practically hovering over Jolee. "She's my friend! She can't die!"

"She _won't_," Jolee sighed as he cut a slit in the side of her tunic so he could more easily access the gaping wound. "I know what I'm doing, child. Don't you trust me?"

"No," Mission replied morosely. "You got the painkiller and blood loss stuff mixed up last time."

Jolee grumbled under his breath and waved Mission out of the medbay. She protested, almost clinging to the doorway with her fingernails, but Jolee eventually managed to get her out. With a sigh of what sounded like relief, he shut the medbay door behind her and went back to pressing gauze to Lire's side. Lire winced at the pressure on her rib, clenching her teeth to keep from voicing a mild curse. Jolee muttered an apology and proceeded to inject a syringe of painkiller into a vein in her arm before going right to again cleaning up her side with kolto. Lire sighed heavily and closed her eyes, trying to focus on something besides the pain racing up and down the left side of her body. When she sighed thinly through her nose, Jolee looked up at her and patted her shoulder.

"Want somethin' for that, lassie?" he asked. "Something to help you sleep while I fix you up?"

"Please," Lire murmured. "Just a little something to make it hurt less."

"Well," Jolee began, turning and rifling through a nearby drawer, "I already gave you something . . . Let me find something that won't interact with the other shot and make you woozy . . . Here we go."

Jolee pulled out another small syringe and peeled away the protective wrapper before taking Lire's arm and injecting the relaxant. Lire blinked slowly and stared up at the medbay's ceiling as the old man went back to tending her side, and she stared at that ceiling for only about a minute and a half before her eyelids sagged. Jolee looked up at her and smiled almost grandfatherly at her.

"You'll be all patched up in no time," he told her, and Lire didn't get a chance to acknowledge him before she drifted off.

In another hour's time—or it could've been two or even three—Lire slowly reawakened to find that she no longer felt pain in her side and that all was as quiet as ever in the medbay. Groggily, she forced her eyes open to look around, and she found that her side was neatly bandaged and healing well. Jolee could be a cantankerous old codger sometimes, but he certainly knew what he was doing when it came to tending the various wounds that seemed to consistently plague the _Ebon Hawk_'s crew. With a faint smile of mild amusement, Lire recalled the time that Bastila had complained of being mortally wounded by a gizka. As it turned out, one of the pesky little critters had nibbled lightly on her thumb to show its admiration. That gizka was the one that Lire promised that Mission could keep when they'd gotten rid of the others. Lire had wanted to sell them, but Canderous had gotten to the poison before she could stop him. It was a shame, too; despite their rapid reproduction rate, they _were_ rather cute. Even the gizka Mission was planning to keep as a pet had mysteriously vanished, but sometimes, late at night, mild cooing sounds could be heard; therefore, the crew generally assumed that Mission was hiding her pet behind a grate in the ladies' dorm. Oh, if Bastila _ever_ found out . . .

Lire slowly tried to sit up, and she'd almost succeeded when someone flew at her and shoved her back down. When the shock from suddenly being leaped upon like that faded, Lire looked up to realize that Mission was almost sitting on top of her, balled fists pressed into Lire's shoulders.

"You're not allowed to go _anywhere_!" Mission exclaimed fiercely. "You're _recovering_. _Recovery_ means _no moving_!"

"Ah, let her go, child," Jolee sighed as he shuffled back into the medbay. "She only got stabbed through the lung. Sure, the kolto'll heal it fast enough, but she can walk. It'll help it."

Lire desperately longed to sit bolt upright and demand "What do you mean, _stabbed through the lung_?!" Mission was still pinning her down, however, and she really didn't want to shove the girl away as brutally as sudden movement would. Instead, she raised both eyebrows while Mission wheeled about to Jolee.

"Whaddaya mean, stabbed through the lung?!" she squeaked. "You mean through one of her breathing thingies?!" She inhaled deeply to demonstrate, puffing out her chest as if to indicate the fully expanded lungs within her own body. "Oh, my Force! People _die_ when they get stabbed through the lung, Jolee! _Die_ as in _dead_! As in gone forever and ever and they never come back except in the forms of scary blue ghosts that haunt people and scare little children in the park!"

"You're confusing them with Master Vrook," Lire chuckled, shifting slightly on the medbay's bunk as if to hint to Mission to _move_. "_He's_ the one that haunts people and scares little children in the park."

"Oh."

"Besides," said a familiar voice from the; Lire's heart skipped a happy beat at the sound of it, "not everybody dies from a punctured lung. Without treatment, sure. After all, I took a shot to the chest and had to wait while Lire ran all over town trying to find a doctor."

Mission's jaw dropped, and Lire rolled her eyes as Jolee came over and stuffed pillows behind her so she could sit up better. The last thing that the _Hawk_ needed was Mission getting all excited over nothing. Lire wanted to smack Carth because she could just _feel_ a chuckle waiting to come out of him. _Someone_ was in a cheerful mood . . . Mission stared at him, half in shock, half in fear.

"You nearly _died_?! _Liiiiiiiire . . .!_"

"He did _not_ nearly die," Lire sighed as she glared at Carth, who still hadn't fetched back his jacket from Jolee (who was scrubbing the stains out) and was thus still in his undershirt; she almost thought she saw him smirk mischievously but knew that couldn't be possible since he hadn't seen her glare . . . right? "And I ran _two blocks_. _Two._ _Not_ all over town. He was back on his feet the next morning, and he darn well knows it, too."

Mission breathed an evident sigh of relief as Jolee rolled his eyes and Carth let out a snort of laughter. Lire arched an eyebrow at him; since when was he so . . . jovial? The last she'd checked, he was on the verge of needing medication for his depression, and she wasn't so sure that the Jedi would even have such a thing. For all she knew, Jedi didn't "believe in" depression and thus wouldn't treat it. Or, if they did, maybe they used a combination of herbs and meditation. Lire shook her head to get her mind back on track as she folded her arms and looked Carth over. His eyes still had that bleary look to them; they weren't clear as they would be if he could see. Yet she couldn't help but wonder if maybe he were healing on his own; after all, he'd found his way out to her with evidently no problems, and now he was responding to things she did as if he'd seen them himself. Lire's brows furrowed as she mulled this over; perhaps it was high time she took him to speak with the Council again. Carefully, she eased her legs over the side of the bunk, but Mission seemed intent on keeping her confined to bed until she was back at one hundred percent. Lire sighed as she glanced at her friend.

"Mish, I'm _fine_," she said. "Yeah, a little sore, but I'm okay."

"Well, you've still gotta stay in bed until tomorrow!"

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard! I can get up, right, Jolee?"

"If you wanna," Jolee replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Your side's as good as new. Might be a scar there, but it's fine. You feel fine?"

"Perfectly!"

"Then you can go."

"But . . . but . . ." Mission's eyes widened as she protested. Lire sighed and put a hand on Mission's shoulder.

"Why can't I get up, Mish?" she asked.

"Because Bastila said so!" came the emphatic reply. "She said that since you were hurt like that, you weren't allowed to leave bed for two days. Honest, Lire, she nearly passed out when she saw all the blood, so she told me to keep you on bed rest!"

"Mission," Lire sighed, a smirk quirking at her mouth, "when was the last time you _ever_ did what Bastila told you to do? Remember Possum?"

Mission's mouth formed an _O_ of realization. _Possum_ was what she'd named the one gizka she'd come to love above all the others. She knew what Lire was hinting at: Bastila had demanded that the creature be thrown out the airlock, but Possum's life had been saved when Lire had tossed a couple blankets and a small pillow into an unused storage crate in the girls' dorm so Possum could have a comfortable home. Lire and Mission both seemed to find great fun in frustrating Bastila to no end, and Mission grinned wickedly.

"You're fine," she declared, stepping back from the medbay's bunk. "Feel free to go wander around the ship and scare the crap out of the Jedi Princess!"

She doubled over with cackling laughter before giving Lire a hug. The next moment, she left the medbay—probably to play with Possum for a while—and Jolee turned away to neaten up the medical equipment. Lire shook her head, a small smile on her face, and Carth chuckled from the doorway.

"You're good to her," he said, and Lire sighed.

"Yeah, she's spoiled," she agreed. "What can I say? She's adorable as all get-out and a barrel of fun. If she wanted it, I'd try to adopt her, and in a heartbeat."

"Well, the Jedi Council might have heart attacks if you suggested that, but I don't see why we both couldn't—"

Lire's head jerked up at those words, and almost immediately, Carth looked a good deal stricken. Perhaps he was just shocked that those words had come flying out of his mouth so suddenly. Jolee glanced up and smirked before pretending that he hadn't heard a word, and Lire felt her face grow warm. Carth chuckled nervously.

"Oh, uh . . . wow," he stammered. "Hadn't expected _that_ . . ."

"Neither had I," Lire replied softly.

"Guess I overstepped my boundaries, huh?" Carth rubbed the back of his neck.

"Oh, I don't know," Lire sighed, thinking over scattered thoughts she'd had that were generally rather warm and sentimental—all involving the possibility of perhaps having a family with him. "Sometimes I have no problem imagining you and me with a whole passel of youngsters."

"Really?" Carth seemed taken aback by that. Jolee scoffed under his breath but went about his work. "Uh, well . . . I don't have much trouble imagining that, either, I guess. But here's a thought: why don't we go kick Malak's sorry tail before getting into that line of thought? Oh, and . . . I'm glad you're feeling better."

He gave her a little grin before turning and ambling from the medbay, running his hand along the _Hawk_'s walls as he went. Lire watched him go and absently rubbed her side, sighing thinly. Then she turned and glanced at Jolee, who seemed to be wearing a mildly amused smile. Lire arched a brow.

"And what does _that_ expression mean?" she asked. Jolee chuckled.

"You two make a good-looking pair," came his response. "Just thinkin' about what your kids would look like."

"I'd be afraid to think," Lire muttered. "I'd probably end up with a child with his wit and paranoia but my Force skills."

"And is that such a bad combination?" Jolee asked, turning and looking at her in total seriousness. "He'd make a good father, lass. You saw the way he looked at that boy of his back on Korriban. What was his name? Dustin? Dusty? Dusted?"

"_Dustil_."

"Told you I was going deaf. The damnable afflictions of the aged." Jolee grumbled under his breath before sighing. "All I'm saying is, if you were smart, you wouldn't let that one get away from ya. Fine a man as I ever saw, which makes him a pretty good match for you." Lire started to protest, but Jolee lifted a hand. "And don't start tellin' me I'm old and don't know anything, because I damn well do. The two of you are fond of each other; that couldn't be more obvious if you were always hugging on him or fondling him. If you do take to fondling, though, take it somewhere else. It was bad enough on Kashyyyk when the katarn went into mating season."

He shook his head in disgust as Lire chuckled under her breath. She rubbed the back of her neck, shifting somewhat on the bunk. For a long moment, she just sat there, thinking. She certainly had to admit that her relationship with Carth had grown since Taris; perhaps it would not be totally inaccurate to admit that she could be developing romantic feelings for him. And she really did not have any trouble picturing him as the father of her children; that was a far cry from a few years back when she never wanted to date again. She glanced over at Jolee, biting her lip.

"So what do you think I should do?" she asked, and Jolee sighed as if chiding her for not listening.

"You make sure he doesn't get away, child. He's come around since he met you."

"And you know this just from a few months here?"

"Don't sound so surprised. Good observation powers, you might say. That boy was miserable when I first met 'im. He smiles more now, and I know it isn't because of Canderous' puckish charm."

Lire laughed before wincing slightly. She was still sore from that morning, and she had a feeling that she would be for another day or so. Part of her wanted to go track down her Sith attacker, but the other part wanted to see if there were anything more that the Council could do for Carth. She nodded questioningly toward the doorway, and Jolee nodded. As she eased up from the bunk, testing out her legs, Jolee leveled her with a firm, wise gaze.

"You be careful with him, child," he said. "He doesn't need more heartbreak."

Then the old man went back to tidying the medbay, and Lire found herself completely bewildered. What had _that_ meant? Jolee had sounded almost as if he knew something that even Lire didn't. There was, no doubt, a multitude of things of which Jolee had knowledge and Lire didn't, but there was something particularly mysterious and almost suspicious in those words. Lire just nodded and thanked Jolee for taking care of her, and he waved her off, demanding that she not coddle him. She just replied that she would coddle him until the day he finally passed on, and he harrumphed but said nothing more.

Smiling faintly, Lire left the medbay, taking it easy even though she knew that she was well enough to get back to her daily routines. She was feeling mildly mischievous and perhaps a little like a troublemaker from grade school, for she wanted to drive Bastila crazy by being out of the medbay long before the other Jedi had given permission. So she leaned back against a wall and glanced rather innocently skyward.

"Thanks for letting me out of the medbay _early_, Jolee," she called, and she heard a snort of laughter from the old man. "I _really_ appreciate being able to run around even though I'm not _supposed_ to . . ."

A moment later, there was a flurry of motion, and Lire smothered a snicker with the back of her hand as Bastila appeared in the main hold from the ladies' dorm, looking harried. She just about flew to Lire's side, brows furrowed to the point of creasing her flawlessly complexioned forehead. Lire struggled desperately not to laugh but found that task harder to accomplish the closer Bastila got.

"You're not supposed to be up!" Bastila cried, racing over and trying to usher Lire right back to the medbay. "You need to _rest_, Lire! You were _very_ badly wounded!"

"Jolee's a good field medic," Lire protested, waving a hand to try to get Bastila to back off. "If he said I'm fine, I'm fine. Besides, I feel great. Kolto fixes anything—probably even that run in your stocking."

Lire bit back a guffaw as Bastila hurriedly checked her attire for runs. Then she glared up at Lire, evidently flustered, and Lire couldn't stand it. She burst out laughing as Bastila folded her arms, scowling.

"That wasn't very humorous."

"It was on this end!"

"I declare, you've become just like Mission! After you rescued her from the fetid pit of Taris, I expected her to model _you_, not the other way around! And furthermore—"

"Oh, no!" Lire snickered. "Not the 'furthermore!'"

Bastila frowned at her and shook a chastising finger.

"Don't you insult my manner of speaking, Lire. I thought you were far more mature than that! Besides, you know perfectly well I do not wear stockings."

Playfully, Lire raised both brows, crossing her arms and surveying Bastila with an almost knowing look.

"No stockings, huh? Scandal in the Enclave. My, my."

Bastila's horrified expression sent Lire back into the thralls of laughter, but when Lire's jubilation was cut abruptly by a noticeable grimace, that look of shock and horror melted quickly into concern as Bastila laid a hand on Lire's shoulder.

"You're in pain," she said. "You need to go back and see Jolee."

"Nah, 's okay," Lire replied, sighing and pressing a hand to the rib that had been broken. "Just a little sore. Strained muscles and all that, I guess. I'll be just great tomorrow."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Bastila bit her lip, still cautiously eyeing her compatriot. Lire rubbed her sore side once before straightening and exhaling slowly. Bastila tilted her head.

"Well, if you're _certain_ . . ."

"Positive. Besides, did you really think I'd want to spend my days cooped up in that medbay, _even_ if Jolee can play a mean harmonica?"

"Well . . ."

"So see? I'm fine. Say, why don't you go get an audience with the Council set up for Carth?"

"To further heal his sight?" Bastila seemed quite intrigued by that. "Lire, I've been thinking . . . I think he may be healing on his own. After all, he found you out there on the plains with no indication of having problems, and the way he related the tale, he was able to rather handily fight your attacker. I think what the Council did for him the first time has—"

"Snowballed," Lire finished, nodding slowly. "I was thinking that, too. He seems, well, _happier_ now. I really think he's getting better."

"Wouldn't that be wonderful?" Bastila clasped her hands together, gazing hopefully at Lire. "I suppose I should go see the Council, then, and find out if they can see him this afternoon."

With that, she glided away toward the boarding ramp, and Lire waved her off before heading straight to the cockpit. As she walked up the corridor, she realized she probably should've gotten Carth's consent before practically ordering Bastila off to set up an appointment with the Council. Then again, she could always hope that his seemingly cheerful attitude meant that he wouldn't be quite as prone to sudden fits of anger this time around. So she continued into the cockpit, knocking on the wall as soon as she entered. Carth, who was lounging casually in his usual spot, feet propped carefully on the dashboard, turned his head ever so slightly in the direction of the entryway.

"Heard the heck you gave Bastila," he said, a smile in his voice. "I don't guess she likes it when her orders get overridden, huh?"

"I should say not," Lire replied, sinking into the co-pilot's chair. "Don't know why she thinks she needs to be in charge all the time. I mean, this is _our_ mission, and by that, I mean all nine of us. And even if they called her 'Commander Shan' back on the _Endar Spire_, I've got enough knowledge of navy hierarchy to know that _you_ could countermand anything she dishes out."

"I know," Carth nodded. "It's great. Being able to say 'Screw that order; I outrank you' leaves a man feeling empowered."

Lire grinned at him as he drummed his fingers on his thigh, chuckling under his breath. She watched him for a long time, wondering what had made him so cheery all of a sudden, and he eventually turned in her direction, feet still on the dash but somehow not mashing any important buttons.

"You must see something you like," he said in an almost teasing tone, "since you're staring so hard."

Lire blinked.

"How'd you know I was watching you?"

"Well . . . Y'know how it is if you're asleep and somebody comes in and stares at you for Force knows how long? Eventually, you'll feel it and jerk awake. Then they'll apologize for giving you a heart attack when they'd probably been doing it on purpose anyway."

"So you felt it?"

"Mm-hmm. So what gives?"

"I was wondering . . . well, what I mean is . . . Why are you so _perky_ today?"

Carth tilted his head toward her, brows furrowed just a bit. He shrugged one shoulder.

"There a reason I shouldn't be? I guess I had an okay afternoon. Heard some telepathic distress call, wandered out to the plains without getting myself killed, and I saved the damsel in distress. Did I mention this was without getting myself slaughtered?"

"Yes, you did," Lire laughed. "Is that the only reason, though? Because, well . . . You haven't exactly been chipper these last few days."

"Do you blame me?" Carth asked, his tone changing to something sadder as he shifted in his seat, crossing his ankles in a way that was opposite of how they'd been. "I'm _blind_, Lire. Blind pilots don't get too far in the fleet. Blind pilots don't even make it to basic training. I once knew this guy that was _color_blind; he couldn't see the targets on the firing range, so they plunked him in the band. That worked for him, though; I'm not exactly musically inclined."

Lire was silent a moment as she let her consciousness glide across his. Some very strong emotions were emanating from him at that moment; she wanted to understand what they were and why they were there. After a few seconds, she sighed.

"You like space, too," she murmured. "It's quiet and makes you feel kind of small—awestruck, I guess." She paused. "Me, too. I like space because it makes you realize that, hey, there's more to the universe than the planets you've visited a dozen times already."

Carth went thoughtfully quiet, head still tilted to one side and brows still faintly furrowed. He still slowly drummed his fingers on his thigh before he sighed thinly.

"Yeah. It's big and beautiful out there, and this old girl can get us anywhere."

He gently ran a battle-calloused palm across the nearest wall, and Lire thought she felt the _Hawk_ shake in delight. Either she was going insane or the ship had a soul all its own. She grinned and stroked the wall beside her.

"She likes you," she said.

"That so? I didn't know ships picked out favorite people."

Carth had sounded mildly skeptical, but he still kept his hand on the wall. Then he chuckled under his breath and shifted again.

"Yeah, she's a good ol' gal, this bucket," he said with a distinct air of affection. "A little wobbly on the struts, but that's okay. Guess we all are time and again. But she hasn't failed me yet."

Lire smiled to herself; if there were one thing she prized in the galaxy, it was his voice and its ability to broadcast everything from sternness to gentleness. Jolee had been right: he _would_ make a good father. But Lire quickly gave herself a mental smack on the hand; after all, this mission was nowhere near completion, and she had no right to be thinking things like that. Then again . . . how soon was _too_ soon to start thinking about who would be a good father to her children? Once upon a time, she'd thought she'd found one. She shook her head and took a breath to get herself back on track.

"I got Bastila to go see if the Council can see you again," she said.

"You did?" Carth didn't sound all that pleased. "What for?"

"To see if they can help you any more," Lire replied. "They did make progress the last time. I mean . . . how in the _world_ did you find me out there on the plains?"

Unless Lire were imagining it, Carth's expression was one of confusion. He turned in her direction and shrugged, shaking his head slightly.

"I don't know," he answered. "I just . . . took off. Didn't even think about it, really. Pretty much just followed you, I guess."

Lire stood and walked over to him, settling down in the seat directly behind him. She reached forward and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He reached back and patted her hand, sighing.

"I don't pretend to 'get' this," he murmured. "I just . . . Aw, hell, this is gonna sound so stupid . . ." He sighed, and Lire noticed for the first time that he'd taken the rose she'd cut for him and put it just out of reach of the flight controls. "I'd like to see a sunset again."

"That's not stupid at all," Lire said. "That's a good wish. It's better than going 'Gee, if I could see again, I'd like to go to a strip club.'"

Carth snickered under his breath, and if he had been able to roll his eyes, he would have. He brought his feet down from the dashboard as if about to stand, and Lire hopped to her feet. Carth hesitated, though, looking thoughtful.

"You sure I ought to?" he asked. Lire nodded.

"Yes. It'll be fine; it always is. Besides, would I throw you to the wolves?"

"Well, you haven't yet, so I guess that's a good sign . . ."

"It's a _great_ sign. Now, c'mon."

She held out her hand and grabbed his, about to tug him onto his feet, but something went dreadfully wrong. Either she lost her balance or he lost his, because when she tugged at his hand, he almost stood but fell back into the pilot's seat. Lire went with him, and a moment later when she looked up, she found herself not two inches from his face. His breath was comfortingly warm on her face, which turned a bright shade of pink at their closeness. What was more, one hand was pressed to his chest while the other was against his bare shoulder—he still had not retrieved his jacket. Lire's gaze was latched firmly onto his face; there was no faint scar, no crease in his skin, that she didn't notice. She was surprised to see a faint sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose; she thought only young children bore those. Perhaps being in the sun as he had recently had caused them to pop out, for she had certainly never noted them before. She was so close to him that she couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think . . . She started to shake, and it only grew worse when Carth's strong hands slid around her waist and held her steady. Part of her wished desperately that those hands would keep sliding around her, maybe a little lower, then lower still . . . Her Jedi robes suddenly seemed so warm and constricting.

"Lire?" Carth asked, voice low, and gentle, tone warm. "You okay in there? You're trembling."

"I . . . I . . . Um . . ." It was all she could do to try to sound intelligent. That endeavor failed miserably. "Y—yeah, I just . . . tripped."

Almost instantly, she felt so incredibly stupid for saying that. What a bumbling idiot he must think she was! But Carth just smiled good-naturedly and gently pushed her up and back onto her own feet.

"Yeah," she repeated, trying to sound a little less flustered. "I just tripped, was all."

"You mentioned."

"Did I?"

She shook her head; there she went again! If she kept this up, she'd go down in history as the absolute most fumbling Jedi of all time. Then again, Jedi weren't supposed to be that close to men that were undeniably attractive. Jedi weren't supposed to stare almost incoherently at the muscles, barely hidden by an undershirt, in a handsome pilot's chest. Jedi weren't supposed to want to be kissed—and fervently. They just _weren't_. She reminded herself, though, that she hadn't _always_ been a Jedi, but that didn't help. She just felt worse, if not more than a little embarrassed. She backed away from Carth and nearly fell into another seat, but she managed to right herself and get herself pointed back at the cockpit entryway.

"I guess I'd better go see if Bastila got that audience," she forced out, straightening her hair and trying not to be quite so red in the face. "You can come along, if you want."

Without waiting for an answer, she hurried from the cockpit, palms pressed to her face. Force, that had been awkward. She wasn't sure how to handle it, though; maybe she should've had more decorum. Maybe she should've just given in to those almost overwhelming wants. Or maybe she should've let him get to his own feet; had she done that, none of this would have happened. None of that would've taken place, and now she wouldn't be in a hard panic trying to get herself looking _normal_ before anyone else saw her. She voted for the only viable option at the time: hiding in the refresher. She leaped inside and shut the door, and once she was safely inside, she grabbed a bath towel, bunched it up, and screamed as loudly as she could manage into it. She prayed no one heard her . . . and she wished that she might not act like a lovesick teenage schoolgirl ever again.


	12. Part Twelve: Refused

**Part Twelve - Refused**

As far as Lire was concerned, she would hide in the 'fresher until she managed to scrub from her brain the thought of that close encounter with Carth. That didn't quite work out as she'd planned, however, for Mission was soon banging frenziedly on the door and declaring hurriedly that she "really had to go!" With a sigh, Lire mashed the controls, and the door hissed open. She barely got a chance to step out before Mission bolted inside, nearly knocking her off-balance. Lire just sighed to herself and rubbed her face with her hands as she turned around, but she nearly jumped when she saw Carth leaning against the wall not too far away. Her face flushed once more but cooled somewhat when she realized that he still wasn't able to see her. She wondered to herself if she ought to be ashamed for being grateful he was blind at that moment.

"Ready to go?" she asked, crossing the hold to him.

"Sure," he shrugged, shifting a bit and altering his stance.

Lire sensed that he wasn't comfortable with the Council entering his mind. She knew that she wouldn't be, either, were she in his boots. Come to think of it, she wasn't sure how comfortable she'd be with the process even if she _weren't_ in his situation. She sighed and took a deep breath, moving to Carth's side. Gently, she put a hand on his shoulder; he had finally gotten his jacket back from Jolee and was fidgeting rather nervously with one of the closures. As far as Lire could tell, there was not even the faintest sign that she'd bled all over that jacket; whatever Jolee had used to clean it had been strong enough to purge it of her blood. She sighed thinly through her nose before giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"You're not alone," she murmured.

For a minute, he looked almost thoughtful or perhaps worried. He nodded once, slowly, and there was a hint of gratitude in his expression. Lire took a hesitant step closer as her hand slid away from his shoulder and up to the back of his head; she wasn't totally sure that she ought to be doing this, but she laced her fingers through his soft brown hair anyway. She started to gently urge his head down closer to her, and it seemed that he all too willingly complied. Their lips almost met; they brushed against each other for a split second before Lire backed away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to—Well, what I mean is—We should go."

Then she stepped around him, headed for the boarding ramp, and Carth followed along behind her, listening for her footsteps. That was slightly more difficult than it had been in the past, however; she was walking more quietly than usual. He knew it was because of their two moments of extreme closeness that day; he partly wondered why she'd pulled away. She hadn't given any warning; she'd just . . . stopped. He figured he probably ought to start thinking about moving on with his life _sometime_, but it was difficult to let himself be happy when he still had vengeance on his mind. That was the thing about Lire: she made him smile even though he hadn't done so in years. She was just . . . special. He mulled over their discussion from earlier about adopting Mission and came to the conclusion that that really wouldn't be such a bad idea. But then he found himself wondering what the best method would be of getting Dustil to accept someone new as his stepmother, and he shook his head as if trying to dislodge all those thoughts.

Then he noticed that Lire's footsteps had stopped; she was waiting for him. He picked up his gait a bit, gingerly picking his way around the Jedi milling about the Enclave. Some of them stepped out of his way out of courtesy; others were so involved in studying holocrons that he had to find his way around them. Carth grumbled under his breath; as far as he was concerned, that was just another example of a Jedi's obliviousness to the world around him. Once, he had to sidestep a cheerfully running Youngling and nearly tripped over a nearby stone that was about the size of an award plaque. He swore mildly under his breath as he caught himself on a wall, ashamed of making a fool out of himself. He'd thought he was getting better at this! After all, he'd been able to get out to the plains and rescue Lire without seeing where he was going, but maybe he'd let that little adventure go right to his head. Maybe he really wasn't as good at this as he'd thought.

Carth stood there against the wall for a moment, running his hands across its rough-hewn surface, feeling its almost primitive texture. He hadn't expected the Jedi to live in a temple of solid gold, but then again, he hadn't exactly been to Coruscant lately, either. Maybe each training academy was different in some way. He paused, remembering the velvety feel of the petals of the rose in his hand when Lire had cut it from the bush so he could have it. He remembered the soft, pleasant coolness of the grass when he'd buried his toes in it. Now he felt the late afternoon sun radiating warmth and, he expected, golden rays down onto him. It no longer felt as if he were standing by that wall because he'd stumbled and nearly failed. Now it felt just as if he were enjoying the afternoon. He let the sunlight wash over him, sighing thinly as it soaked through his jacket to warm the skin beneath. It was just . . . nice. He hadn't had a moment like this to himself in, well, years. Most of his time was spent hunting Saul. At least it was nice to know that the universe was still beautiful. The thought that he might soon be able to again see it spurred him on toward the Council chambers, only he realized that he could no longer hear Lire's footsteps.

"Lire?" he called, almost hesitantly. It wasn't as if he had anything to hide, though; everyone in the Enclave probably already knew he was blind. Force, how he despised that word. It left him feeling . . . _empty_. There was a soft hand snaking into his.

"Here."

It occurred to him then that she had been beside him all along, just watching and waiting. He also realized that she wasn't trying to lead him into the Council chambers; she was just holding his hand, just . . . being there. Sometimes she really surprised him. He sighed to himself, brushing his other hand across the wall once more.

"Guess we'd better get in there," he said, somewhat resignedly.

Lire gave his hand a squeeze, and he just squeezed back. Then her hand dropped from his as she walked away toward the Council chambers, and he followed, once again being certain to follow the sound of her footsteps. When she stopped, so did he, though he wondered if perhaps she were merely pausing to check his location. Before long, their footsteps began to echo as they entered the Council chambers. Lire touched the back of his hand as they walked toward the center of the room, and he came to a halt, waiting. Vandar shuffled across the room to him, gazing up at Carth. Bastila was waiting nearby, watching carefully.

"Captain Onasi," Vandar said. "It is good that you have come. The Council is very confident that today may be a special day for you."

Carth's heart skipped a nervously excited beat, but he didn't say a word. In truth, he wasn't quite sure how he ought to respond. He wasn't even sure if anything more could be done for him _even_ if the Jedi Master had basically promised that something _would_ be done. Vandar turned to Lire.

"Padawan Dakaar," he said. "Bastila has told us of your . . . rather exciting morning. She has informed us of your unknown attacker; perhaps it would be best if you returned to the _Ebon Hawk_ and continued to rest."

Lire's jaw dropped as she stared at Vandar first and Bastila second. How could they suggest that?! She _wanted_ to be here with Carth during all this! She felt _fine_. As far as she could tell, she was fully healed!

"With all due respect, Master," she said, forcing herself to remain passive, "I should like to stay."

"You have become far too attached to your pilot," Vrook harrumphed, and Lire felt her eyes narrow. "You think your bond gives you clearance to draw close to him. Such thoughts lead to the Dark Side, young one; you would do well to remember that."

"I have thought no such things," Lire replied, allowing a hint of venom to filter through her tone. "I simply want to be here when you help him! You cannot send me away, Masters, because I will not go!"

The Council glanced back and forth among each other, and Vrook grumbled under his breath. The others looked mildly sympathetic, and Bastila looked slightly shocked at her comrade-in-arms' refusal to obey the Council's wishes. Lire felt relief from Carth; he hadn't wanted her to leave any more than _she'd_ wanted to. Bastila took a step or two forward, eyes almost pleading. Lire arched an eyebrow.

"They _are_ right, Lire," Bastila murmured. "You have worked too hard these past few days and deserve time to rest."

"I will _not_ leave him!"

"It isn't as if you're abandoning him."

"It _feels_ that way!"

Vrook glared at the other Masters in an "I told you so" fashion, folding his arms and scowling. Zhar sighed and looked at his former apprentice.

"Padawan," he said. "We know you are concerned for him, but we all sense your exhaustion. Recall the time you nearly harmed yourself by refusing to rest during your initial training."

Lire paused, thinking back. When she had first come to Dantooine, she had thrown herself so fully into her training that she'd barely gotten any sleep or food. For the most part, she slept only when she was about to fall down anyway, and her sustenance had been limited to whatever she could get her hands on at the time—usually water. One night, she'd stayed in the Enclave to train until well past midnight and had collapsed of exhaustion. Mission had been the one to sound the alarm when the girl had awakened for a drink of water and seen that her friend had not yet returned to the ship. Lire rubbed the back of her neck, still thinking. Canderous had found her first; she'd passed out on the threshold of the door leading out to the walkway that eventually wound its way around the Enclave to the _Hawk_. She still remembered how awful she'd felt when she'd finally come around, but she had had a fairly good reason for training so hard. It was the voices. Always those voices, always screaming, crying, wailing in agony . . . She didn't hear them as much anymore, but when she'd first been attuned to the Force, she'd heard them quite clearly. They'd been louder than one of the _Hawk_'s engines. Now they were quieter, but she'd paid for her almost insane devotion to her training. She'd spent a week in bed, simply resting and recovering her lost strength. She bit her lip.

"_Must_ I go?" she asked, just as a child meekly asks her parents whether or not she absolutely must tidy her room. Zhar nodded slowly.

"You must," he replied. "Padawan, I know how you wish to stay, but you must rest. Bastila needs your help in stopping Malak. Should you fall from exhaustion, the entire galaxy might fall to him."

Somehow, it _always_ managed to come back to that. They always managed to drill into her skull time and again how "important" this mission was, how "critical" to the security of the galaxy it was, how "special" and "talented" and "significant" to this she herself was. Lire sighed; she certainly didn't _want_ to leave, but it seemed as if the Council wasn't giving her a choice. And from what she could feel, Carth didn't want her to leave, either. Vandar motioned to Bastila, and the young Padawan came forward, crossing to Lire's side and taking Lire by the shoulder.

"It will be fine," she said. "I promise. We'll take very good care of him."

"You mean—" Lire seemed to suddenly realize what Bastila had unwittingly insinuated. "You're taking over _my_ part in all this? _You_ aren't the one bound to him, Bastila! This isn't your place!"

"Be silent!" Vrook grumped. "You have been told to return to your ship. You will do as you are instructed, _Padawan_."

"I will not!" Lire cried. "I—I don't _want_ to leave him!"

Vrook cast an almost triumphant look in the Council's direction as if to once again declare that he had been correct in saying that Lire had become too attached to her ship's pilot. Lire was starting to shake, and Bastila gently clasped both of her friend's shoulders, trying to calm her.

"It's all right," she soothed. "This need not be quite so traumatic. I'm not trying to take over your part in this. We just want you to rest. Lire, you _need_ to rest. Trust us!"

Lire stared in disbelief at the Council, but then her expression went from shock and horror to resigned understanding. She backed away from the Council even as she edged closer to Carth, her hand straying for his. Her cold azure gaze was locked firmly on each Master as she nodded slowly.

"I understand," she said tightly. "You think I'm too attached to him. You don't want me here because you think he'd have thoughts you wouldn't want to see. Fine. Okay. I'll go."

"No, Lire, it isn't like that—" Bastila began, but Lire lifted a hand to silence her.

"No, it's fine," Lire replied. "I'll go back to the _Hawk_ and . . . and _rest_. I just pray that you'll figure out how damned _ridiculous_ throwing me out is."

She gave Carth's hand one tiny squeeze before turning around and striding from the Council chambers, and for a moment, she felt as if she were truly abandoning him. A sensation of helplessness rolled off him and onto her, and her gait slowed momentarily as she considered turning right around and going back to him. She could feel the Council's shock at her reaction, and she nearly wanted to punch their faces in. How _dare_ they think that leaving Carth for no reason would be something she'd easily accept! She wondered if maybe she ought to stay just to spite them. Then again, she really wasn't in the mood for dealing with their ignorance. She thought she ought to stay for Carth's sake, though, but by the time she considered turning around, she was already out of the Council chambers, and the door was locked behind her. She sighed, closing her eyes and pounding a fist into the wall. Sometimes she just wanted to tell the Council what she _really_ thought of them. Instead, all she could do was walk morosely back to the _Ebon Hawk_ and wonder why the Council had tried so hard to throw her out.


	13. Part Thirteen: Finale

**Part Thirteen - Finale**

Back inside the Council chambers, Carth was alone with the Masters and Bastila. He was nervous, to put it plainly; he kept shifting his weight and turning his head toward different locations. Every once in a while, he ran his tongue along his dry bottom lip before shifting again. Vrook grumbled something under his breath, but the other three Masters glared at him. Bastila looked at them all with an expression that requested compassion toward Carth, who no doubt felt completely out of place and more than a little vulnerable. She walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder as gently as she dared. He didn't flinch as she'd expected. Instead, his head just tilted in her direction, but his sightless gaze was latched onto the Council.

"Why'd you toss her out?" he asked, voice low.

Vandar gazed sympathetically at Carth before glancing at his fellow Masters. Vrook still had that mildly triumphant expression.

"For what we are about to do," Vandar explained, "Lire does not possess enough focus. She is sometimes easily distracted, and in matters such as this, distraction is far from helpful. And she's exhausted, both mentally and physically; we did not misspeak. She would be more harm than good to you."

"You should've told her that," Carth said.

"She didn't give us a chance," Dorak replied. "You must understand that whatever we do is for the good of all involved."

"_And_ she's _far_ too attached to you, Captain," Vrook interjected, arms folded. "She finds it difficult to remain objective when it comes to you. Having her here would hinder this."

Vandar sighed and shook his head; apparently he felt that Vrook should have said nothing that sounded even remotely like that. Even he seemed to think that the seemingly grumpy Master had spoken out of turn.

"Silence, Vrook," he chided calmly. "You must understand that Padawan Dakaar is merely concerned for a friend. There is nothing shameful in that, and you begin to overstep your authority when you imply that there is. Should she let frivolous passions consume her, however . . ."

He trailed off, and Bastila nodded gravely. Carth bit off a sigh; he'd heard all _that_ before. The one Jedi tenet that the Masters attempted to shove repeatedly down the throats of all their pupils was "Attachments lead to the Dark Side." He knew Lire was concerned for him; perhaps he could even go as far as wondering if maybe she cared for him in a stronger way. He knew that, at least, he didn't want to endanger her in his quest for vengeance. He turned his head to the right, sighing thinly; Force, he wished she were there so this wouldn't seem quite like a court martial. Bastila touched his shoulder.

"Be seated, Carth," she instructed. "This won't hurt, I promise. The Masters are quite capable of healing your mind without pain."

"_Lire wouldn't have said it like that,"_ Carth thought as he settled on the floor, rolling his shoulders back in nervous anxiety. _"She would've told me _she'd_ be gentle."_

He thought he'd twitch and fidget his way right down through the floor and into the ground beneath. Force, if only he could keep still . . . ! He heard the more compassionate Masters quietly instruct Bastila to ready his mind and help him enter something of a healing trance. Carth nearly made some sarcastic remark about how a proper dose of anesthetics would be better. For the most part, he was skeptical that these Jedi could heal his damaged eyesight. But the part of him that was being reopened to things such as childlike faith in miracles was almost absolutely certain that something good would come from this. After all, Lire would've been confident that something could be done. Unfortunately, she wasn't exactly there at the time, so he had to build up his own confidence. He just found it difficult to completely trust an organization as standoffish as the Jedi Order.

Bastila touched his arm, and he jumped, though that reflex wasn't purposeful. He simply hadn't heard her moving and silently wished that she'd make at least _some_ sort of noise. She just offered one pat to his arm, and he realized that that was her way of saying "I'm going into your brain; don't get scared, now." Force, how _hard_ it was to stay calm! At least Bastila was gentle; she didn't poke sensitive parts of his mind and didn't go farther than she needed to. Yet his consciousness was continually pressed upon; that had to be the Council in there, too. He nearly spooked because the last time the Council had been inside his mind, Lire had been there as well—and she'd been sending him calming waves. That had made it far more bearable. But then Carth felt an almost tingling sensation behind his eyes, and his stomach turned a somersault. For a split-second, he thought he could decipher the Masters' silhouettes.

Almost could . . . It wouldn't take much more to be able to . . . But then it faded again. The tingling remained and even grew stronger, but there was still darkness.

Back at the _Ebon Hawk_, Lire was still positively furious and was, therefore, _not_ resting. Instead, she was in the engine room, clad in a ratty old tank top and rather ancient mechanic's coveralls that she'd tugged on like trousers, not even bothering to slip the suspenders over her shoulders and bring the bib up over her chest. Fully aware that evening was rapidly approaching, she was lying on her back with her head up under the hyperdrive, tinkering; in particular, she was mumbling angrily under her breath as she worked, covered in grease almost from head to toe. Every once in a while, the faint clinking of tools would be broken by one loud _clank_, followed promptly by a Mando'a curse she'd picked up from Canderous. For the most part, however, she was muttering to herself; she was also completely alone, for Mission had sensed her foul mood (if Lire's storming aboard the _Hawk_ had been any clue) and declared that all should just back away slowly from her and leave her alone.

"Think they can throw me out, do they?" she grumbled, tightening a bolt on the hyperdrive's underside. "Think I'm too attached . . . What a load of—"

She broke off abruptly as a loud hissing noise informed her that she'd just hit something sensitive under there. Immediately, coolant sprayed all over the engine room, and Lire got out from underneath the hyperdrive as fast as she could.

"Well, that's just _great_," she grumbled to herself. "And here I was thinking I was doing _so_ great at avoiding important things. As if my day can't get _any_ worse . . ."

Brows furrowed angrily, she pounded a fist into the floor panel before reaching for a roll of sealant tape; she'd at least make a temporary fix before repairing the break in the coolant line. As she slid back underneath the hyperdrive, tools in hand, she made sure to make a mental note about refilling the coolant reservoir in the drive as soon as possible—definitely before the _Hawk_'s next flight.

Lire peered up into the hyperdrive's "guts" as she wrapped the sealant tape around the broken line, deftly staunching the coolant leak. As she worked at making a more permanent repair, she stopped right in the middle of what she was doing as she suddenly became aware of the inner workings of that hyperdrive. It was so complex: the meandering lengths of wire and connector cable took her breath away. It was almost like a little city, for every electronic piece, every metal fragment, worked together in such a intricate network that it seemed almost impossible that a human could learn how it functioned. Lire just stared at the crisscrossing wires for the longest time, trying to determine all their paths. Her mental focus slid from the Masters and the way they'd asked her to leave and instead was riveted on the inner workings of the hyperdrive. She just lay there on her back, staring up and just _looking_. It brought her an uncanny sense of calm to have that hyperdrive exposed to her like that. She recognized that feeling as the same sensation she got whenever she upgraded or repaired HK or T3. She always felt so _peaceful_ whenever she worked with droids or engines. And so she just studied the hyperdrive before she resumed working on that broken coolant line.

Switching the valve off, Lire grabbed a wrench and loosened the bolts holding the tubing in place. That broken length would have to go, so she wrested it free and tossed it out from under the hyperdrive. Then she thrust her arm out from under the drive, groping about for the toolkit. When she found it, she dragged it nearer and felt around in it, looking for another bit of tubing. She had come out from under the hyperdrive to trim it somewhat, but when she had done so, she simply dove back underneath to install it. She treated the hyperdrive as a surgeon would treat a patient: gently and with great care and skill. The new coolant line was soon installed, and Lire reminded herself aloud to never again whack it as hard as she had, even if the original blow had been rather accidental.

Time slipped by as Lire worked there beneath the hyperdrive, tightening loose bolts and fixing various things that could eventually become problems. She personally rather liked flying in a ship that was well-maintained, and as far as she was concerned, it was better to fix problems before they became such. "If it ain't broke, fix it before it is" was her motto—if she were ever to have need of a motto. At least she knew that she was saving credits by working on the ship herself; it wasn't as if she were inexperienced, either. Though, sometimes, Carth or T3 would assist her with more complex repairs.

Tightening a nut, Lire started humming to herself; yes, working on the _Hawk_ certainly brought her some measure of peace. Sometimes at night, when she would be lying down to sleep, she'd get the same feeling; it came from hearing the low rumble of the engines and knowing that they were in first-class condition. Lire smiled to herself as something like a wave of pleasure rippled through the ship itself.

"You like bein' worked on, huh, my pretty girl?" she asked, reaching out and stroking the hyperdrive's enclosure. "Makes you feel all nice and well-groomed. Kind of like a manicure for spaceships, huh?"

She wasn't sure if she were imagining it or not, but she thought she felt the ship shake in something of an affirmative nod. She laughed lightly before surveying her work. It seemed as if she were finished for now. Nothing else was loose or malfunctioning; all was nicely repaired and working normally. So Lire slid out from underneath the hyperdrive and put the tools back in the toolkit. As she gathered her legs beneath her and pushed herself up from the floor, she looked herself up and down and realized that she was a complete wreck. She was covered in grease and coolant, she'd garnered a few rips and tears in her tank top, and her hands were almost black from working with the hyperdrive. She frowned; she knew she was in such a state that she'd require at least an hour in the shower to get all this dirt and grime washed off. Lire rubbed her hands on her coverall legs, but that didn't work. Her hands were just as filthy as they had been before. But then her attention was diverted elsewhere.

Someone was racing around the ship like an insane person, shouting her name and almost seeming hysterical. Eventually she realized that the person searching so frantically for her was Carth, and her heart almost skipped a nervous beat; what had happened? Was something wrong? Was someone hurt or sick? She stuck her head out the engine room door and glanced each way down the corridor, and she found Carth darting through the garage and almost back out the ship again.

"Carth!" she called, and he whipped around. "Over here!"

As he jogged straight to her, she realized that she hadn't quite said _where_ "here" was. He was running rather exactly to her; either he had learned superbly how to judge her location by the sound of her voice, or . . . When Carth slowed to a halt in front of her, breathing hard, the first thing Lire noticed was that his eyes seemed so much _clearer_. Her breath whooshed out of her in a nervously excited rush as he grabbed her hands, a huge, beaming smile cresting on his face.

"Oh, Lire!" he gasped out, wide brown eyes actually darting back and forth across her face. "I—I can . . . Oh, Force! I can see, Lire! _I can see!_"

Lire's jaw dropped at that revelation, and she thought she saw Bastila entering the ship and wearing a tired yet happy smile—a smile of the kind of satisfaction one would have after doing a good thing for someone else. Lire stared at Carth for a minute before she burst out laughing merrily, and she threw her arms around his neck in a joyful embrace.

"I'm so happy for you!" she cried. "How is it?!"

"It . . . it's indescribable," Carth breathed, releasing her as his eyes roved almost lovingly across the _Hawk_'s walls, taking in every detail now that he could see them for himself once more. "Oh, Lire, the _sunset_. Oh, Force. All the red and gold . . . And the clouds looked like they were on fire . . . And the courtyard! I didn't know the Jedi grew so many different flowers out there. They were just . . ."

He sighed as he remembered all that he'd just seen and reveled in his restored sight, and Lire thought she might cry—happy tears, of course. He certainly had deserved this gift; she'd have to remember to thank the Jedi Council for their help. She was swiping tears from her eyes with her little finger when Carth turned toward her, eyes searching her face. She mustered up her best smile and offered it, and his response was one corner of his mouth quirking up. Then he reached over and gently touched her hair, her face, her shoulder . . .

"You're a mess," he observed. Lire let out a short bark of laughter.

"Yeah, I know it," she replied. "The underside of the hyperdrive isn't exactly a place for the squeamish."

She started to laugh, but there was something in Carth's eyes that stopped her. He was just gazing at her, looking faintly thoughtful. He touched a bit of her hair again, rubbing it between his fingers almost as if he were again blind and had to learn to recognize things by touch. Then he gingerly felt her face, touching his hands to her chin and jaw, and Lire very nearly melted into a puddle at his feet. Yet she stayed still, simply being as calm as she often was.

"Y'know, it's nice to have a face to put with your voice again," Carth said finally. "I missed that."

"How could you miss _this_?" Lire asked jokingly as she motioned to her scruffy appearance. "I look like I fell in a vat of engine grease."

"Yeah, and some people look good drenched in grease," Carth replied, eyebrows raised playfully.

"I made the list? Shocking."

"Not all that much."

Lire wasn't quite sure what to do when Carth leaned in close to her and kissed her on the forehead even though she knew she probably didn't have to do a thing. She inhaled deeply; his scent was a combination of his aftershave, leather, and the soap Jolee had used to clean his jacket. His breath was pleasantly warm on her face, and she wouldn't have minded staying just like that for a minute or two. But then she _did_ do something even though she hadn't originally intended to: she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him nearer, kissing him on the lips and telling herself that the Jedi were far too ignorant for their own good in matters of the heart. Emotional attachments weren't things to be avoided like the plague; instead, they were things to be treasured. Lire also wasn't totally convinced that love and other such emotions paved a direct route to the Dark Side.

Lire was pleasantly surprised when Carth returned her kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her tightly despite her grungy state. She pressed a hand to his cheek, gently stroking his stubbly beard, and after a moment, they pulled apart. Carth gazed inquisitively at her for a moment; she just grinned and shrugged. With a faint sigh, he gave her waist a gentle little squeeze before glancing toward the boarding ramp.

"It oughtta be getting close to nightfall," he said, and Lire stifled a yawn with the back of her hand when he wasn't looking. "I'm gonna go out and watch the stars come out—y'know, to make this worthwhile."

He gave her a smile and a playful wink before ambling toward the ramp and, ultimately, the Enclave courtyard to admire the glittering stars as they slowly flickered alight in the purplish black evening sky. Lire watched him go before once again surveying her attire. She glanced back at the ramp a moment later, and an idea popped into her head. Technically, she _could_ go get cleaned up later . . . So she broke into a jog, cutting across the garage to reach the ramp.

"Hey, Flyboy!" she called. "Wait up! I'll come with you!"

_End._

* * *

_A/N: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing!_


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